red by the dews and rains of heaven,
Shoots up and yields a hundred-fold of grain,
Until in golden harvests now it waves
On myriad acres, many thousand miles
From where the single ancient seed had grown.

Thus he grew up with all that heart could wish
Or power command; his very life itself,
So fresh and young, sound body with sound mind,
The living fountain of perpetual joy.
Yet he would often sit and sadly think
Sad thoughts and deep, and far beyond his years;
How sorrow filled the world; how things were shared--
One born to waste, another born to want;
One for life's cream, others to drain its dregs;
One born a master, others abject slaves.
And when he asked his masters to explain,
When all were brothers, how such things could be,
They gave him speculations, fables old,
How Brahm first Brahmans made to think for all,
And then Kshatriyas, warriors from their birth,
Then Sudras, to draw water and hew wood.
"But why should one for others think, when all
Must answer for themselves? Why brothers fight?
And why one born another's slave, when all
Might serve and help each other?" he would ask.
But they could only answer: "Never doubt,
For so the holy Brahmans always taught."
Still he must think, and as he thought he sighed,
Not for his petty griefs that last an hour,
But for the bitter sorrows of the world
That crush all men, and last from age to age.

The good old king saw this--saw that the prince,
The apple of his eye, dearer than life,
Stately in form, supple and strong in limb,
Quick to learn every art of peace and war,
Displaying and excelling every grace
And attribute of his most royal line,
Whom all would follow whereso'er he led,
So fit to rule the world if he would rule,
Thought less of ruling than of saving men.
He saw the glory of his ancient house
Suspended on an if--if he will rule
The empire of the world, and power to crush
Those cruel, bloody kings who curse mankind,
And power to make a universal peace;
If not this high career, with glory crowned,
Then seeking truth through folly's devious ways;
By self-inflicted torture seeking bliss,
And by self-murder seeking higher life;
On one foot standing till the other pine,
Arms stretched aloft, fingers grown bloodless claws,
Or else, impaled on spikes, with festering sores
Covered from head to foot, the body wastes
With constant anguish and wi