“With ploughshares ploughing up the fields, with seed
Sown in the breast of earth, men win their crops,
Enjoy their gains and nourish wife and child.

Why cannot I, whose life is pure, who seek
To do the Master’s will, no sluggard am,
Nor puffèd up, win to Nibbana’s bliss?

One day, bathing my feet, I sit and watch
The water as it trickles down the slope.
Thereby I set my heart in steadfastness,
As one doth train a horse of noble breed.

Then going to my cell, I take my lamp,
And seated on my couch I watch the flame.

Grasping the pin, I pull the wick right down
Into the oil. . . .
Lo! the Nibbana of the little lamp!
Emancipation dawns! My heart is free!”