The Sunset of the Century by Rabindranath Tagore 

(Written in the Bengali on the last day of last (19th) century)

1:

The last sun of the century sets amidst the blood-red
clouds of the West and the whirlwind of hatred.
The naked passion of self-love of Nations, in its drunken
delirium of greed, is dancing to the clash of steel and the
howling verses of vengeance.

2:

The hungry self of the Nation shall burst in a violence of
fury from its own shameless feeding.
For it has made the world its food,
And licking it, crunching it and swallowing it in big morsels,
It swells and swells
Till in the midst of its unholy feast descends the sudden
shaft of heaven piercing its heart of grossness.

3:

The crimson glow of light on the horizon is not the light of
thy dawn of peace, my Motherland.
It is the glimmer of the funeral pyre burning to ashes the
vast flesh,—the self-love of the Nation—dead under its own
excess.
Thy morning waits behind the patient dark of the East,
Meek and silent.

4:

Keep watch, India.
Bring your offerings of worship for that sacred sunrise.
Let the first hymn of its welcome sound in your voice and sing
“Come, Peace, thou daughter of God’s own great
suffering.
Come with thy treasure of contentment, the sword of
fortitude,
And meekness crowning thy forehead.”

5:

Be not ashamed, my brothers, to stand before the proud
and the powerful
With your white robe of simpleness.
Let your crown be of humility, your freedom the freedom
of the soul.
Build God’s throne daily upon the ample bareness of your
poverty
And know that what is huge is not great and pride is not
everlasting.

THE END.