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He that acts as he should and takes for act No fruit thereof—he is the Recluse, he Is the true Yogin; not the man who lights No flame and makes no offering. What they call Renouncement, Prince! is Yoga: he achieves No Yoga who doth not renounce the will.

For him who would mount to the heights of Yoga, Action is the way; for him who hath mounted, Calm is the way. When a man is not attached To sense-objects or to works, renouncing all Will of desire, he is on that height named Yokeful—yoked with the Supreme.

Let each man raise the Self by his own Self, Nor let the Self decline! Self is the friend Of Self for him who masters Self by Self; But Self is the foe of that self which is Not mastered. The soul of him who rules himself Is calm, in cold and heat, in pain and joy, In honour and dishonour poised the same, Uplifted and at peace. With knowledge full, With mastery of the senses, on the peak Of meditation he abides, the Yogin; To him a clod, a stone, a piece of gold Are one and all the same.

He is the noblest Yogin who regards With equal eye lovers and enemies, Strangers and kinsmen, saints and sinners all. Sequestered should he sit, steadfastly meditating, Solitary, his thoughts controlled, his passions Laid away, quit of belongings all. In a fair, still spot having his fixed abode, Not too much raised, nor yet too lowly set, With cloth of antelope and Kusha-grass Spread where he sits, let him then practise Yoga For purifying of the soul.

With body, head, and neck kept motionless, His gaze fixed on his nose-end, looking not Around; with spirit calmed, with fears all gone, Dwelling in vow of Brahmacharya, firm In the control of mind, unto Me turned, Let him sit with thoughts on Me, with Me His ruling vision. Yoga thus achieved, The Yogin comes to Peace, my Peace, Arjuna!— The Peace of the high Nirvana-realm.

But for the Yogin, Arjuna! be not A man of excess! Not for him too much Of fasting or of feasting; nor too deep Sleep, and not too little sleep. Who eats With temperance, and who works in temperance, Who rests and sports in temperance, in that way His Yoga slays all pain. When the controlled mind Rests quietly in the Self alone, and wants No worldly thing, then he is named a Yogin.

"A lamp in windless place doth not flicker." So burns the Yogin's quiet soul, enclosed In Yoga. When the mind, restrained by Yoga, Comes to rest, and when, beholding the Self By self, a man is satisfied in self; When he hath known that vast delight which is Beyond the senses, grasped by the awakened Intelligence; when, steady in that high estate, He moveth not from the Real at all; Having attained which, he doth reckon naught As gain exceeding it; and, stationed there, Is not moved by the heaviest grief that falls; This divorcement from the fellowship of pain Know thou as Yoga—Loss as severance Of the knot of anguish.

With firm resolve, let him pursue this Yoga, Renouncing every desire, checking the senses With the mind, little by little learning To find his rest in Self; his mind made firm By steadfastness. And when the restless mind Doth wander from that rest, then bring it back Under the Self's own rule. Supreme delight Surges through him, the Yogin, whose whole mind Is steeped in Brahma, passionless and pure, Become one with God. So all Yogins, made Free of stain, perpetually controlled, Touch the bliss supreme of unity with God.

He who thus vows his soul to the Supreme Soul, Seeing the Self abiding everywhere, Sees everywhere the Self, and Self sees him; That Yogin sees Me in all things, and all things In Me. Who worships Me in all he sees, He doth abide in Me, and I in him. And he who worships Me in every creature, He, howsoever he lives and acts, lives And acts in Me.

For the mind is verily restless, Krishna! It is impetuous, strong, and difficult To bend. I deem it hard to master as The wind, O Slayer of Madhu!

Undoubtedly, O mighty-armed! the mind Is restless, and most hard to hold in check; But by practice, Son of Kunti! and by the means Of dispassion, it may be governed well. Yoga is hard to win, I deem, for him Whose heart is not subdued; but, for the man That strives, self-ruled, the path is not so hard.

But he who, though possessed of faith, is slack, And lets the restless mind stray from its Yoga, Failing to reach perfection in that Yoga— What road goeth he, O Krishna? Fallen thus From both, doth he not perish like a cloud That drifts between two worlds, reft of support, Bewildered on the path to Brahma's world? Thou, Krishna! who of all men knowest all, Resolve me this my doubt entirely, Lord! For there is none but thee can do away With this my doubt!

He is not lost, dear Prince! Here or hereafter No evil lot is his who doth good work. The man who fails in Yoga comes at death To the region of the pious. Having dwelt There many years, he takes new birth again In a fair house, among the favoured folk; Or, haply, in a family of Yogins Who are wise—though 'tis a birth like that Which is most hard to win in all the world! There he doth gather up again the wit Acquired in his former life, and strives Anew to reach perfection, Kuru's Son!

By that former practice he is borne on, Even against his will; and wanting Yoga, He overpasses those who deal in texts. But the Yogin who with strong effort strives, Purged from offences, perfected through births, Reaches the goal at last! The Yogin ranks Above ascetics, higher than the wise, Higher than those whose works their worship are; Be thou a Yogin, Arjuna! And of all The Yogins, he who in his inmost soul Worship Me, clinging faithful to My grace, Him hold I best of all the Yogins! Yea!