Tukaram, Poem 1292

The kingdom of Rama is established; what do we lack? The earth yields her harvest, the cows and buffaloes their milk. From hour to hour, women, let us sing strains in praise of Rama, while we grind or pound or take our meals. No one now ever sees or dreams of sorrow; as His name resounds, destruction trembles. Tuka says, Rama has given us His own bliss; we shall return again to the womb no more.