Tukaram, Poem 312

Thou art our merciful mother, O Vitthala, a shadow to Thy suppliant; the milk of love ever flows in Thy breast, Thy sight is pure and sweet as nectar. Thou canst discern the inward parts and sufferest not hunger or thirst, pain or weariness to vex us. Thou dost chase far away the thirst of desire and illusion; Thou givest us a place to play in. Tuka says, Set me with the saints, where the hand of time cannot reach me.