Tukaram, Poem 720

Come, cultivate this field that costs you nothing, even Vitthoba’s name. Here there are no pressed men, there is none to feed, no revenue to pay, no oppression, no laborious toil, you have no partner, you are quite your own master. Instead of ploughing you must call on God’s name and live virtuously; there are no penalties to be incurred, no stipulations to fulfil. Here is neither weeding to be done nor a waste boundary to be left; for neither actions nor religious duties trouble you. Take divine knowledge for your drill and you need not sow any seed. No seed of accumulated merit is wasted; the crop ripens from the primal source. Yama cannot steal it away, for you have Vitthala’s name as watchman. You may be sure this crop will never vanish; only a madman would be anxious about it. Harvest time is ever present; not a single moment is wasted. There is a crop of infinite love; we have no room sufficient to store it. Tuka says, Whoever fails to make this his own, a miserable wretch is he!