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[96] Each moment is God's cup of wine, Let your Eternal taste it.
There are many sorts of triumph: Proud conquest over pride, Desire and greed and glooms of flesh A lifetime multiplied; And there are countless conquests On earth, both great and small, But the soul's evasive conquest Is the greatest of them all.
Since every moment honey drips, O Gautam ! do not waste it: Each honey-drop awaits your lips, Let your Eternal taste it!
Time stains us with its seasons, With hues which crash and splinter, Life's temporary seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter The tree of life turns yellow, Its leaves grow frail and sere, And one by one begin to fall Only to disappear. Since every moment nectar brims, O Gautam ! do not waste it:
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