The Matchless
Mechanic
Numerous shells hast Thou made, milking Thyself gross,
Instruments hast Thou fitted, making Thyself the subtle:
Seated in each, Thou givest
light to see and act,
Vast fields hast Thou provided for us all to
live.
Ah! Master Mechanic, how hast Thou built this
gigantic universe.
Sans material, sans
instruments and sans workmen too?
Sure, Thou hast something superb,
Far beyond my wisest ken
and wildest guess.
Let me not match my wits against Thine in
probing Thy secret,
Make use of this machine if it suits, or cast
it aside;
Give me the wisdom not to come in Thy way or
hamper,
Give me the wisdom not to put forth my will
and interfere with Thine.
–Swamini Sharadapriyananda