The path is always thorny and long,
Winding through a dark and lonely land.
With faith, I set upon your lips a song,
And placed a 'Gyandeep' in your hand.
The torrential rains are fond of game,
The stormy weather plays a tout.
I tried firmly so far to protect the flame,
And saved it from being blown out.
Dear, O my dear students like my sons!
My heritage is now your heritance.
I hope in your care, the lamp ever burns
With greater glory and more brilliance.