Kwan-yin

The priests kneel and kow-tow to Kwan-yin.

The acolytes sing:

 
The voice of pain is weak and thin
And yet it never dies.
Kwan-yin – Kwan-yin
Has tears in her eyes.
Be comforted … be comforted…
Be comforted, my dear…
Never a heart too dead
For Kwan-yin to hear.
 
 
A pony with a ragged skin
Falls beneath a load;
Kwan-yin – Kwan-yin
Runs down the road.
A comforter … a comforter…
A comforter shall come…
No pain too mean for her;
No grief too dumb.
 
 
Man's deserts and man's sin
She shall not discover.
Kwan-yin – Kwan-yin —
Is the world's lover.
Ah, thief of pain … thou thief of pain…
Thou thief of pain, come in.
Never a cry in vain,
Kwan-yin – Kwan-yin…
 

First priest – tenor – chants:

 
Is she then a warrior against sin?
On what field does she plant her banner?
Bears she a sword?
 

First and second priests – tenor and bass – chant:

 
The world is very full of battle;
The speared and plumed forests in their ranks besiege the mountains;
The flooded fields like scimitars lie between the breasts of the mountains.
The mists ride on bugling winds down the mountains.
Shall not Kwan-yin bear a sword?
 

Third priest – tenor – chants:

 
Kwan-yin is no warrior.
Kwan-yin bears no sword.
Even against sin
Kwan-yin has no battle.
This is her banner – a new day, a forgetting hour.
Her hands are empty of weapons and outstretched to the world.
Her feet are set on lotus flowers,
The lotus flowers are set on a pale lake,
And the lake is filled with the tears of the world.