1 The wind of change forever blown
across the tumult of our way,
tomorrow’s unborn griefs depose
the sorrows of our yesterday.
Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife,
and death unweaves the webs of life.

2 For us the labor and the heat,
the broken secrets of our pride,
the strenuous lessons of defeat,
the flower deferred, the fruit denied;
but not the peace, supremely won,
great Buddha, of the lotus throne.

3 With futile hands we seek to gain
our inaccessible desire,
diviner summits to attain,
with faith that sinks and feet that tire;
but nought shall conquer or control
the heav’nward hunger of our soul.

4 The end, elusive and afar,
still lures us with its beck’ning flight,
and our immortal moments are
a session of the infinite.
How shall we reach the great, unknown
nirvana of your lotus throne?