Ambāstotram: Hymn to the Divine Mother
by Swami Vivekananda

This beau­ti­ful hymn to the Divine Moth­er was com­posed in San­skrit by Swa­mi Vivek­a­nanda. The trans­la­tion is by Swa­mi Ashokanan­da.

॥ अम्बास्तोत्रम्‌॥
का त्वं शुभे शिवकरे सुखदुःखहस्ते
आघूर्णितं भवजलं प्रबलोर्मिभङ्गैः।
शांतिं विधातुमिह किं बहुधा विभग्नाम्‌
मतः प्रयत्नपरमासि सदैव विश्वे॥१॥

सम्पादयत्यविरतं त्वविरामवृत्ता
या वै स्थिता कृतफलं त्वकृतस्य नेत्री।
सा मे भवत्वनुदिनं वरदा भवानी
जानाम्यहं ध्रुवमिदं धृतकर्मपाशा॥२॥

को वा धर्मः किमकृतं कः कपाललेखः
किंवादृष्ट फलमिहास्ति हि यां विना भोः।
इच्छापाशैर्नियमिता नियमाः स्वतन्त्रैः
यस्या नेत्री भवतु सा शरणं ममाद्या॥३॥

सन्तानयन्ति जलधिं जनिमृत्युजालं
सम्भावयन्त्यविकृतं विकृतं विभग्नम्‌।
यस्या विभूतय इहामितशक्तिपालाः
नाश्रित्य तां वद कुतः शरणं व्रजामः॥४॥

मित्रे शत्रौ त्वविषमं तव पद्मनेत्रम्‌
स्वस्थे दुःस्थे त्ववितथं तव हस्तपातः।
मृत्युच्छाया तव दया त्वमृतञ्च मातः
मा मां मुञ्चन्तु परमे शुभदृष्टयस्ते॥५॥

क्वाम्बा सर्वा क्व गृणनं मम हीनबुद्धेः
धत्तुं दोर्भ्यामिव मतिर्जगदेकधात्रीम्‌।
श्रीसञ्चिन्त्यं सुचरणमभयपतिष्ठं
सेवासारैरभिनुतं शरणं प्रपद्ये॥६॥

या मामाजन्म विनयत्यतिदुःखमार्गैः
आसंसिद्धेः स्वकलितैर्ललितैर्विलासैः।
या मे बुद्धिं सुविदधे सततं धरण्यां
साम्बा सर्वा मम गतिः सफलेऽफले वा॥७॥

|| ambās­to­tram ||
kā tvaṁ śub­he śivakare sukhaduḥkha­haste
āghūrṇi­taṁ bhava­jalaṁ pra­balormib­haṅ­gaiḥ |
śāṁtiṁ vid­hā­tu­mi­ha kiṁ bahud­hā vib­hag­nām
mataḥ pray­at­na­paramāsi sadai­va viśve ||1||

sam­pā­day­atyavi­rataṁ tvavirā­mavṛt­tā
yā vai sthitā kṛtapha­laṁ tvakṛ­ta­sya netrī |
sā me bha­vat­vanud­i­naṁ varadā bhavānī
jānāmya­haṁ dhru­vami­daṁ dhṛ­takarmapāśā ||2||

ko vā dhar­maḥ kimakṛ­taṁ kaḥ kapālalekhaḥ
kiṁvādṛṣṭa pha­la­mi­hāsti hi yāṁ vinā bhoḥ |
icchāpāśairniyamitā niyamāḥ svatantraiḥ
yasyā netrī bha­vatu sā śaraṇaṁ mamādyā ||3||

san­tā­nayan­ti jal­ad­hiṁ jan­imṛ­tyu­jālaṁ
samb­hā­vayantyavikṛ­taṁ vikṛ­taṁ vib­hag­nam |
yasyā vib­hū­taya ihāmi­taśak­tipālāḥ
nāśritya tāṁ vada kutaḥ śaraṇaṁ vra­jā­maḥ ||4||

mitre śatrau tvav­iṣa­maṁ tava pad­mane­tram
svas­the duḥs­the tvav­i­tathaṁ tava hastapā­taḥ |
mṛtyuc­chāyā tava dayā tvamṛ­tañ­ca mātaḥ
mā māṁ muñ­can­tu parame śub­hadṛṣṭayaste ||5||

kvām­bā sarvā kva gṛṇanaṁ mama hīnabud­dheḥ
dhat­tuṁ dorb­hyāmi­va matir­ja­gadekad­hātrīm |
śrīsañcintyaṁ sucaraṇam­ab­haya­p­atiṣṭhaṁ
sevāsārairab­hin­u­taṁ śaraṇaṁ pra­padye ||6||

yā māmā­jan­ma vinay­aty­atiduḥkhamār­gaiḥ
āsaṁsid­dheḥ svakali­tair­lal­i­tairvilā­saiḥ |
yā me bud­dhiṁ suvi­dad­he satataṁ dharaṇyāṁ
sām­bā sarvā mama gatiḥ saphale’phale vā ||7||

A Hymn to the Mother

by Swa­mi Vivek­a­nanda
(trans­lat­ed from the San­skrit)

O beau­ti­ful, aus­pi­cious One, hold­ing in Thy hands plea­sure and pain—
  who art Thou?
The waters of exis­tence are whirled to mighty burst­ing waves—
Is it, O Moth­er, to restore the shat­tered calm
That Thou art cease­less­ly active in the uni­verse?

To friend and foe Thy lotus eyes are even;
On for­tu­nate and unfor­tu­nate Thou layest Thy hand alike;
Death­less­ness and the shad­ow of death are equal­ly Thy mer­cy.
O Moth­er, O supreme One, may Thy gra­cious glances nev­er for­sake me!

May She, whose action knows no respite,
Who con­stant­ly brings about the fruit of actions done, and shapes actions yet to be,
May She always bestow Her bless­ings upon me!
She it is, I know cer­tain­ly, who holds the ropes of kar­ma.

With­out Her, where is virtue, where vice?
Where is destiny—“the writ­ing on the fore­head”?
With­out Her, where is action, where the fruit of action?
May She, the cords of whose sov­er­eign will con­trol all laws,
May She, the Pri­mal One, shel­ter me ever­last­ing­ly!
Oh, where shall I find refuge save in Her,
  whose glo­ries man­i­fest in the uni­verse in pow­ers immea­sur­able,
Whose pow­ers swell the ocean of birth and death
And trans­form the immutable into the chang­ing and divid­ed?

How infi­nite­ly great is the Moth­er, and how inad­e­quate the praise I sing of Her—
  I, so poor of under­stand­ing!
It is as if I desired to seize with my hands the sole Sus­tain­er of the uni­verse!
So, at Her blessed feet, the abode of fear­less­ness,
Med­i­tat­ed on by the very god­dess of grace and glo­ry,
Adored by those devot­ed to Her service—I take refuge.

Whether I suc­ceed or fail,
She, who has ever inspired my under­stand­ing on the earth,
Who, devis­ing sweet play­ful ways, has led me, since by birth,
Along the most painful paths to Per­fec­tion—
She, the Moth­er, the All, is my refuge.

from The Voice of India, pub­lished by the
Vedan­ta Soci­ety of North­ern Cal­i­for­nia in the 1940s.