Mother, I bow to thee!

Rich with thy hurrying streams,

Bright with orchard gleams,

Cool with thy winds of delight,

Dark fields waving Mother of might,

Mother free.

The glory of moonlight dreams,

Over thy branches and lordly streams,

Clad in thy blossoming trees,

Mother, giver of ease

Laughing low and sweet!

Mother, I kiss thy feet,

Speaker sweet and low!

Mother, to thee, I bow.

Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands?

When the swords flesh out in the seventy million hands

And seventy million voices roar

Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?

With many strengths who art mighty and stored,

To thee, I call Mother and Lord!

Though who savest, arise and save!

To her, I cry who ever her foeman drove

Back from plain and Sea

And shook herself free.

Thou art wisdom, thou art law,

Thou art heart, our soul, our breath

Though art loves the divine, the awe

In our hearts, that conquers death.

Thine the strength that nerves the arm,

Thine the beauty, then the charm.

Every image made divine.

In our temples is but thine.

Thou art Durga, Lady, and Queen,

With her hands that strike and her swords of sheen,

Thou art Lakshmi lotus-throned,

And the Muse, a hundred-toned,

Pure and perfect without peers,

Mother lend thine ear,

Rich with thy hurrying streams,

Bright with thy orchard gleams,

Dark of hue O candid-fair

In thy soul, with bejeweled hair

And thy glorious smile divine,

Loveliest of all earthly lands,

Showering wealth from well-stored hands!

Mother, mother mine!

sweet Mother , I bow to thee,

Mother great and free!