“Bethink thee, Guttā, of that high reward
For which thou wast content to lose thy world,
Renouncing hope of children, lure of wealth.
To that direct and consecrate the mind,
Nor give thyself to sway of truant thoughts.
Deceivers ever are the thoughts of men,
Fain for the haunts where Māra finds his prey;
And running ever on from birth to birth,
To the dread circle bound—a witless world.
But thou, O Sister, bound to other goals,
Thine is’t to break those Fetters five: the lust
Of sense, ill-will, delusion of the Self,
The taint of rites and ritual, and doubt,
That drag thee backward to the hither shore.
’Tis not for thee to come again to this!
Get thee away from life-lust, from conceit,
From ignorance, and from distraction’s craze;
Sunder the bonds; so only shalt thou come
To utter end of Ill. Throw off the Chain
Of birth and death—thou knowest what they mean.
So, free from craving, in this life on earth,
Thou shalt go on thy way calm and serene.”