Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head

Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule.

Have Mercy upon me, O Lord, Sustainer of the world. The dust of the feet of the Saints is all the treasure I need. In the Company of the True Guru, one's investment remains intact. Nanak is awake to the Love of the Supreme Lord.

Thy mercy, O LORD, is in the heavens; and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds.

Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? By th' mass and 'tis, like a camel indeed. Methinks it is like a weasel. It is backed like a weasel. Or like a whale. Very like a whale.

My prophecy is but half his journey yet, For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.