tiruvAcagam or The Sacred Utterances of the Tamil Poet, Saint and ...

XII. Longing for grace alone.
I dread not any birth. To death what should I owe ! Nor do I crave
Even heaven itself to gain. No power to rule this earth do I esteem.
O Civan, crowned with cassia-flowers that sweets distil; our PerumAn !
Our only Lord! I fainting cry: ' When comes the day I find Thy grace ?' (48)
XIII. Without Thy presence I pine
I ever pine Thy flow'ry feet to see, -Thy slave, dog though I am !
I sit, no fitting flowers present, my tongue no rising raptures speaks.
Thou Who the well-strung golden bow didst bend ! Ambrosia of Thy grace
If Thou give not, I PINE,-a wretch forlorn,-what other can I be? (52)
XIV. Deadness of soul.
My inmost self PINES not, as were befitting, for Thy sacred Foot;
Nor melts in love; I bring no wreath; speak out no worthy word of praise
Within the shrine of Him, the King of gods, perform no service due;
Nor move in dance. To death I haste ! Thou Whom true wisdom bringeth nigh! (56)
XV. God all in all-
Thou art the Heaven;Thou art the Earth;Thou art the Wind;Thou art the Light!
The Body Thou; the Soul art Thou; Existence, Non-existence Thou;
Thou art the King; these puppets all Thou dost make move, dwelling within
That each one says: ' Myself and mine. ' What shall I say? How render PRAISE (60)
XVI. My praise is pure. Free me from embodiments.
The heavenly ones adore Thee still heaven's bliss to share ! Their minds to Thee
They lowly humble that, on high exalted, men may worship them;
Thou round whose flower-wreath hum the honey-bees ! Thy slave, I praise
Thee, even I, that Thou may'st save from idle round of earthly birth ! (64)
XVII. The bliss of Civan's heaven of presence.
The heavenly dwellers chaunt Thy praise; the fourfold VEdas utter song;
She of the shining locks that shed perfume is sharer of Thy seat;
There in true love Thy servants all commingling dwell; there, more and more,
Thy feet with sounding anklets girt do they behold, Thou hard to know !(68)
XVIII. This abandonment is unendurable.
Thou Whom 'tis hard to know, -in sky and in the golden court revealed,-
Our mighty One ! beneath the jewelled feet where I was made Thine own,
No more I scatter fragrant flowers, nor wondering weep, nor melt in love.
'Tis past my power to bear ! How can it be ? I die, insooth, I die ! (72)
XIX. He is above; we earthly still.
With flow'ry arrows in the spring-time comes the god of soft desire,
And witching smile of maidens fair, with rosy mouths and flower-wreathed locks !
Poor soul, -that pants and melts through these, -Who made thee His, and thrilled thy frame,
To-day hath gone and dwells in heaven; yet see, thou still art lingering here ! (76)