Of the which be they Who, in white flame of continence, consume Joys of the sense, delights of eye and ear, Forgoing tender speech and sound of song: And they who, kindling fires with torch of Truth, Burn on a hidden altar-stone the bliss Of youth and love, renouncing happiness: And they who lay for offering there their wealth, Their penance, meditation, piety, Their steadfast reading of the scrolls, their lore Painfully gained with long austerities: And they who, making silent sacrifice, Draw in their breath to feed the flame of thought, And breathe it forth to waft the heart on high, Governing the ventage of each entering air Lest one sigh pass which helpeth not the soul: And they who, day by day denying needs, Lay life itself upon the altar-flame, Burning the body wan. Lo! all these keep The rite of offering, as if they slew Victims; and all thereby efface much sin. Yea! and who feed on the immortal food Left of such sacrifice, to Brahma pass, To The Unending. But for him that makes No sacrifice, he hath nor part nor lot Even in the present world. How should he share Another, O thou Glory of thy Line?