Our mother is a cool shade. Vitthal has come overflowing with the milk of love. Going to her lap, I cling there, and drink my fill of all that I desire. She tends to my body with her grace, nourishing it; the nectar of immortal life pours forth. There is no room in my chitta to hold this joy. What measure can even the ocean be? Wherever she goes, if trouble presses, she watches over her child before and behind. Says Tuka, I do not know what worry is. I am the suckling infant of Vitthal, my mother.