Tukaram, Poem 532

God has not told us that we should sing, while you utter never a word. Cry Rama! Rama! strike the cymbals; dance till you sway to and fro in love, seeking your own profit. When the task is so simple, why should you be so lazy? The hand is the natural prey of fire: why do you take such care of it in your indolence? Here is no room for shame or thought of the public voice; here devotion is due. He who laughs at us is guilty of such sin as the slayer of a Brahmana commits. Let each offer God his faith in the form he chooses, for God has no preference, no consistent rule. Happy are they who listen to His praises. Tuka says, Others are born mere stones.