The Volcano-Leader of the Nation¹⁴

The Mother in chains, he labours with her dole.
    His human heart is wet with her tears.
"India, my India, awake!
awake!
    Mere fruitless mortal years —

O they can never be your choice sublime.
    Break through the storm of deadening blows.
Bande Mataram, the fire-incantation
    Shrine in your heart-beats; close

The door of age-long dark oblivion.
    For the Mother's freedom vast, to you
My heart shall give her Will's tremendous flow
    Of deathless golden hue.

Our Mother shall sit on the throne of ecstasy,
Guiding the world with her Immortality."