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Poem LXXXIX

I. 100. kôi s'untâ hai jñânî râg gagan men

Is there any wise man who will listen to that solemn music which
  arises in the sky?
For He, the Source of all music, makes all vessels full fraught,
  and rests in fullness Himself.
He who is in the body is ever athirst, for he pursues that which
  is in part:
But ever there wells forth deeper and deeper the sound "He is
  this--this is He"; fusing love and renunciation into one.
Kabîr says: "O brother! that is the Primal Word."