The Power Of Music crash a mile hence -

When summer comes, we hear the hums And in the sky the feathered fly turn turtle while

Bhisma Lochan Sharma. they're winging,

You catch his strain on hill and plain from Delhi Again we cry,'We're goingto die, oh won't you

down to Burma stop your singing? '

He sings as though he's staked his life, he sings But Bhisma's soared beyond our reach, howe'er

as though he's hell-bent; we plead and grumble;

The people, dazed,retire amazed although they The welkin weeps to hear his screech, and
mighty
know it's well-meant.
mansions tumble.
They're trampled in the panic rout or languish
But now there comes a billy goat, a most
pale and sickly,
sagacious fellow,
And plead,'My friend, we're near our end,oh
He downs his hornsand charges straight, with
stop your singing quickly! '
bellow answ'ring bellow.
The bullock-carts are overturned, and horses
The strains of song are tossed and whirled by
line the roadside;
blast of brutal violence,
But Bhisma Lochan, unconcerned, goes
And Bhisma Lochan grants the world the golden
booming out his broadside.
gift of silence.
The wretched brutes resent the blare the hour

they hear it sounded,

They whine and stare with feet in air or wonder

quite confounded.

The fishes dived below the lake in frantic search

for silence,

The very trees collapse and shake - you hear the