Thou Divine Stealer

Come! O’ Come! O’ Lord to one and all
Thou Divine stealer of hearts and souls
With a melodious patter of Thy lovely feet
Moving like the soft breath of the fading wind
Thy face aglow with a Divine luminous luster
Cleaving the happy but low murmur of the crowd
Waiting in a breathless whispering silence
Just for a ‘darshan’ of a frail little figure
Clad in a rob of shimmering burnished gold
Or may be a blood red robe of splendour
Casting all around a hushed magical spell of enchantment.

                                                                            ~‘Tharaki’

Source: Sanathana Sarathi, July 1958