On half way up Himalyan heights he dwelt,
The King of Ice, the friend of biting cold,
We wonder what he ate and how he felt,
Contented that his story be not told.
In contemplation there he passed his days,
With God he lived; without a friend or foe,
With awful self-reliance in his ways,
Unmoved by dainties, decencies, below.
Unsteeped in Shastric learning, quite alone,
At fourteen thousand feet, penance performed,
Where air was scarce and little could be grown,
A prince of Yoga, divinely well-informed.
Gave up his mantle, standing on the ice,
Immersed himself in God, Oh! Blessed thrice.
His example the purest doth inspire,
To rise to levels higher and yet higher.