Salvation Cannot be Feigned

O for the nectar of wisdom, deep and clear
Poured from Thakur’s ancient flask
The sincerest refuge from well-ploughed fear
Dakshineshwar will welcome me without a mask

The grace that prayed at Marvel’s church altar
The trembling souls of Herbert’s hymns,
Where convictions and redemptions jointly falter
Where virtue and evil are synonyms

I saw you in Keats’ nightingale in flight
Singing of strains forever unchained
In Wordsworth’s trailing periwinkles, that delight
Like an unblinded Milton’s paradise regained

That gilded sanctuary, where faith reblooms unstained
O Thakur, lead me where salvation cannot be feigned