Vande Mataram

Mother, I bow
Rich with thy hurrying streams
Bright with orchards gleams
Cool with thy winds of delight,
Dark fields waving Mother of might Mother face,
Glory of moonlight there dreams
Over the branches and Lordly streams
Cloud in thy blossoming tree,
Mother, giver of ease
Laughing low and sweet
Mother I kiss thy feet
Speaker Sweet and low
Mother, to thee I bow
Who hath said thou art weak in thy lands.
When the sword flesh out in the seventy million voices roar.
Thy dreadful name from shore to shore?
With many strengths who art mighty and stored,
To thee I call Mother and Lord!
Though who savest, arise and Save!
To her I cry Who ever her foeman drove.
Back from plain and sea
And shook herself free
Thou art wisdom, thou art law.
Thou art heart, our soul, our breath.
Though art love divine, the awe.
In our hearts that conquers death
Thane the strength that nerves the arm,
Thane the beauty, thane the charm
Every image made divine
In our temples is but thane
Thou art Durga, Lady and queen
With her hands that strike and her
Swords of sheen
Thou art Lskshimi
Lotus –throne
And the muse a hundred –toned
Pure and perfect without peer
Mother lend thane ear
Rich with thy hurrying streams,
Bright with thy orchard gleams,
Dark of hue o candid fair
In thy soul, with jeweled hair
And thy glorious smile divine,
Loveliest of all earthly lands showering wealth from
Well stored hands
Mother Mother Mine
Mother Sweet, I bow to thee
Mother great and free.