Tukaram, Poem 234

The Yogis gaze on the reflection of Your splendour; we see the original before our eyes. He stands upright with both hands on his hips; from his body glances a purple lustre. He pervades the world, yet dwells far from it; within all things He is hidden unmodified by all. He has neither shape, nor outline, nor name; we must approach Him in our spirits. There is neither end nor limit to Him, nor room for distinction of caste; he has neither family, nor caste, head, hands or feet. The joy of faith enlightens the ignorant, through their own fond desire, says Tuka.