The ringing stone you cut and cleave, and from it gods you make;
The threshold-stone until 'tis gone with your base heels you scrape;
Flowers, and sacred ashes too, the god-stone gets each day;
Yet neither stone to the great God can any joy convey.
Another of their poets, speaking of the worthlessness of rubbing holy ashes on the forehead, of ablutions in sacred rivers, of unintelligible prayers, as a means of purifying the soul, or finding the true way to the heavenly shores, says—
“Neetei-punein-thenna neer-ardap-poyenna nee-manamey," &c.
That is—
Why ashes on thy forehead rub? In sacred streams why bathe?
Thou knowest not the second birth, the way thou knowest not—knave!
Seven times ten million senseless prayers, oh what do they avail?
The stream to cross—the ford to find—your wandering footsteps fail.
Generally, they take strictures upon their religion with a very good grace. There is one point, however, where our teaching becomes very offensive: it is when we get them clearly to see and feel that our meaning is, that our's
