(Intro Verse)
na yad vacaś citra-padaṁ harer yaśo
jagat-pavitraṁ pragṛṇīta karhicit
tad vāyasaṁ tīrtham uśanti mānasā
na yatra haṁsā niramanty uśik-kṣayāḥ

(Verse 1)
Yo, words that fail to recount, the Lord’s pure renown,
He alone sanctifies, the universe’s crown.
Saintly persons consider them, a low-grade domain,
A pilgrimage for crows, enduring constant strain.
The all-perfect inhabitants, of the transcendental sphere,
Derive no delight there, with nothing held dear.
Crows and swans differ, not birds of one feather,
Their mental attitudes diverge, in all kinds of weather.