  Turn the merry mill-stone, Gunga! Pour the golden grain in; Those that twist the Churrak fastest The cakes soonest win: Good stones, turn! The fire begins to burn; Gunga, stay not! The hearth is nearly hot. Grind the hard gold to silver; Sing quick to the stone; Feed its mouth with dal and bajri, It will feed us anon. Sing, Gunga! to the mill-stone, It helps the wheel hum; Make the fine meal come: Handsful three For you and for me; Now it falls white, Good stones, bite! Drive it round and round, my Gunga! Sing soft to the stone; Better corn and churrak-working Than idleness and none. |
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