To where the stately new vihara rose,
  Enbowered in giant trees of every kind
  That India’s climate grows, while winding streams
  Along their flowery banks now quiet flow,
  Now leap from rocks, now spread in shining pools
  With lotuses and lilies overspread,
  While playing fountains with their falling spray
  Spread grateful coolness, and a blaze of bloom
  From myriad opening flowers perfumes the air,
  And myriad birds that sought this peaceful spot
  Burst forth in every sweet and varied song
  That India’s fields and groves and gardens know. 
  And there Sudata bowed on bended knee,
  And from a golden pitcher water poured,
  The sign and sealing of their gift of love
  Of this vihara, Gatavana called,
  A school and rest-house for the Buddha’s use,
  And for the brotherhood throughout the world. 
  Buddha received it with the fervent prayer
  That it might give the kingdom lasting peace.

  Unlike Sudata’s self, Sudata’s king
  Believed religion but a comely cloak
  To hide besetting sins from public view,
  And sought the master in his new retreat
  To talk religion and to act a part,
  And greetings ended, said in solemn wise: 
  “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown;
  But my poor kingdom now is doubly blest
  In one whose teachings purify the soul
  And give the highest and the humblest rest,
  As all are cleansed who bathe in Rapti’s stream.” 
  But Buddha saw through all this outer show
  His real purposes and inner life: 
  The love of pleasure blighting high resolve,
  The love of money, root of every ill,
  That sends its poison fibers through the soul
  And saps its life and wastes its vital strength. 
  “The Tathagata only shows the way
  To purity and rest,” the master said. 
  “There is a way to darkness out of light,
  There is a way to light from deepest gloom. 
  They only gain the goal who keep the way. 
  Harsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead
  As sure as shadows on their substance wait. 
  For as we sow, so also shall we reap. 
  Boast not overmuch of kingly dignity. 
  A king most needs a kind and loving heart
  To love his subjects as an only son,
  To aid—­not injure, comfort—­not oppress,
  Their help, protector, father, friend and guide. 
  Such kings shall live beloved and die renowned,
  Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest.” 
  The king, convicted, heard his solemn words
  That like an arrow pierced his inmost life. 
  To him religion ceased to be a show
  Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds,
  But stood a living presence in his way
  To check his blind and headlong downward course,
  And lead him to the noble eightfold path,
  That day by day and step by step shall lead
  To purity and peace and heavenly rest.