A mote is too large for the eye, small as it is.
As you cleanse your eye of it, even so purify
your mind; let no pollution cling to it. No man
can feel to another’s child as he feels to his own.
Tuka says, The pure grain you harvest will corre-
spond to your desire for a crop.
I am chattering before you like a pet child.
Hear what leads to a good or bad end. He does his duty who governs his wife; he is a defaulter who respects nothing and feels no shame. Merit lies in the service of others; guilt in vexing and censuring them. Happiness lies in the company of the saints; unhappiness when harmony is broken by discord. He attains who controls his mind; disaster overtakes him who is entangled with others, dishonour him who licks the lips of women. Call him wise who knows how to keep the peace; foolish, him who prides himself on his powers of dispute. He is a good man who performs the Gaya rites, a scoundrel, who heaps up vile wealth and haunts brothels. He behaves well who sets apart a portion for cows and guests, badly, he who dines with no witnesses to keep him company. He advantages himself who sees God in all created things, not so he who yields to selfish isolation. Like a good judge of jewels is he who knows the signs that a man has attained; a fool is he that is charmed by ornaments on the outside. Deep is he who keeps secret the advice of his teacher; shallow is he who is nerveless and groans “What will be my fate?” Generous is he who surrenders his soul to God; a niggard, who clings to things of sense. Sweet, the only true essence of things, is the name of Vitthala; bitter is the world and the eight million rebirths. Tuka says, O my mind, dwell at Vitthala’s feet; you need nothing more.
As you cleanse your eye of it, even so purify
your mind; let no pollution cling to it. No man
can feel to another’s child as he feels to his own.
Tuka says, The pure grain you harvest will corre-
spond to your desire for a crop.
I am chattering before you like a pet child.
Hear what leads to a good or bad end. He does his duty who governs his wife; he is a defaulter who respects nothing and feels no shame. Merit lies in the service of others; guilt in vexing and censuring them. Happiness lies in the company of the saints; unhappiness when harmony is broken by discord. He attains who controls his mind; disaster overtakes him who is entangled with others, dishonour him who licks the lips of women. Call him wise who knows how to keep the peace; foolish, him who prides himself on his powers of dispute. He is a good man who performs the Gaya rites, a scoundrel, who heaps up vile wealth and haunts brothels. He behaves well who sets apart a portion for cows and guests, badly, he who dines with no witnesses to keep him company. He advantages himself who sees God in all created things, not so he who yields to selfish isolation. Like a good judge of jewels is he who knows the signs that a man has attained; a fool is he that is charmed by ornaments on the outside. Deep is he who keeps secret the advice of his teacher; shallow is he who is nerveless and groans “What will be my fate?” Generous is he who surrenders his soul to God; a niggard, who clings to things of sense. Sweet, the only true essence of things, is the name of Vitthala; bitter is the world and the eight million rebirths. Tuka says, O my mind, dwell at Vitthala’s feet; you need nothing more.