Encomium poems for the Tripitaka assembly and the Disaster-Dispelling Rite (消災道場) — written at the king's command. Encomium poems for the Tripitaka assembly大藏經及消災道場音讚詩。應制。 大藏經道場音讚詩

The remnant brigands have drawn up their famished-looking troops in vain And the king relies wholly on the Buddha's jeweled brow-tuft (玉毫) If the chanting of the Sanskrit hymns be made like the cry of dragons How should the barbarians not flee away like deer The subtle words of the Tripitaka sea melt in like milk and curds The deep sense of the monastic grove decides whether it is the wind or the flag Before the assembly is done the beacon smoke will scatter And that ten thousand households sleep in peace is the Buddha's grace

The barbarians ground their teeth and barked worse than shaggy dogs And now would spit their leftover spittle again upon the southern river There is no need to trouble a thousand troops in iron mail to hold them We must lean on the ten powers of the golden-bodied one to take their surrender The three vehicles (三乘) of India seem to press down and roll them And who could lift even the nine cauldrons of Zhou At today's assembly we are just now praying with our hearts So who would again beat the war drum with his hand

We had barely rejoiced that the remnant barbarians were clipped in the east When at Yanmen (雁門) there are barbarians violating the pass again Beneath heaven, with his back to the screen, the king's thoughts are weary And in the golden hall he burns incense and does reverence to the Buddha The moon of awakening is sunk clear in the sea of the three baskets (三藏) And the source of Seon (禪) is opened the wider by the wind of a single blow of the staff The guarding troops of the six heavens stand round in stern array They will trample the fur-clad hordes and surely sweep them away

The barbarian whelps that block the chariot wheel need not even be whipped For the divine troops of the eight classes (八部) guard the sandalwood seat In the storehouse of the Tathagata there is nothing that is not a treasure And on the patched-robe monk's (衲子) zither no strings are used The great earth shakes and passes on the cry of dragons and elephants The wide sea tilts and washes away the rankness of dogs and sheep After the royal army reports its triumph and comes to court It will be the first year of a thousand years of great peace

Though one spend all one's schemes and reckonings to fatten the state It is not so good as leaning on the Buddha's compassion If he but trouble his jade person a while and bow a thousand times The foundation of the state will be pledged for ten thousand thousand years The Buddha gave his long tongue and spread out the sea-like Tripitaka The patriarchs (祖師) handed on the secret mind and entrusted it to the windlike staff Who will first see that great peace is before our eyes Already, leaning on the mountain of merit, we are laying its very foundation

Those who came in file with the tread of elephants are all ministers (卿) of India And wearing his red dragon robe he comes down himself to the phoenix court to meet them The hidden storehouse of the King of Emptiness (空王) is opened by the golden dragon And the lofty song of the old patched-robe monk is taken up by the stone woman The moon in the water becomes the mirror of a thousand Buddhas And the glow that fills the sky is one man's sincerity You should know that the fortune of the state is hard even for mountains to roll Already, leaning on the merit of the incense, we prepare great peace

The king, wishing to bathe in the Buddha's compassion Has the yellow canopy raised and comes himself to the assembly A thousand fingers turn the sutra leaves, a surpassing strength Ten thousand households lay their pillows high, pledging great peace The clouds follow his circling steps and float on the dragon-figured robe The wind enters the preaching seat and stirs the fly whisk There is no need to range a hundred tiers of battlements on the iron wall For men and heaven gather in rivalry to build the state's foundation

At the head of the jade regalia the elephant tread comes up Seon practitioners (禪子) in chrysanthemum-colored robes and monks in mulberry-dyed gowns Their tongue-roots cover the earth as they turn the three baskets Their nostrils reach the sky as they raise a single lamp Drawn onward by the king's sincerity, the incense smoke goes straight Bearing auspicious light as it comes, the sun's rays rise At the Sanskrit chanting the gods seem to sing along The troops are already deep in hiding and the state will greatly rise

The eight classes mingle together ranged about the royal regalia And a thousand cases of sutras have newly come from the sea palace The royal countenance bows its brow, and the three refuges (三歸依) are earnest The Buddha's mirror looks down on his head, and a single thought comes home The savor of the Way issues straight from the flute without holes And the Sanskrit chanting sounds on and on, thunder without cloud From the Spirit Terrace (靈臺) they report by night that the barbarian star has fallen And the scouting horsemen tell in the morning that the barbarian force is broken

The seats are dressed with sandalwood and light up the hall The begging bowls are flung after the clouds, and black robes and yellow robes gather Turning the sutras, they seek the dragon's treasure in the Tripitaka sea Hearing the talks, they chew the patriarchs' incense in the Seon grove The one man who holds the state bows his head in person And a thousand Buddhas like the void all turn their light about Presently the wind and dust of the four borders will be stilled And the sun and moon of the Three Han will be set long in their course

The pure seats are scarcely spread when the begging bowls come flying And amid the throng of dragons and elephants the thunder of the Law is shaken out The waves of the teaching sea are opened from this day And the flowers of the patriarchs' grove bloom better than last year The wheel of the vow already turns together with heaven So why fear that the moon will not come back to the mirror of awakening The root of good planted in the morning may be gathered at evening And how should the auspicious reckoning of the Three Han have an end

Incense banners and jeweled parasols are ranged along the stone steps And the form of the incense rite is of a sudden new this year The one man bends his body in person And we know in truth that the eight classes have shown themselves in the flesh The sound of the Law becomes thunder and rolls on through the sky The king's steps circle like heaven as he walks around the Buddha The hub of the vow rolls and comes back to the mirror without hindrance And the true wind blows and makes a spring of great peace

At the palace the Buddhist rites have been sincere year by year And today the king turns his sincerity more utterly still The jade cases are wet with mist as the dragons bear them in And a wind rises on the sandalwood seats as the elephants tread by Seeking the pearl in the teaching sea, it is the wish-granting jewel (如意寶) Taking up the lamp of the patriarchs' house, one's own mind is bright At one sound of the Sanskrit chant a thousand disasters scatter And a handful of Japanese raiders is not worth putting down

On a surpassing site we have newly opened a capital like white jade And the royal air of rivers and hills encircles the Bright Hall Leaning again on the Buddha's power, the iron wall stands firm So why should we fear the stout armored horse of the barbarian whelps The dragons' hands bear in the treasure of the three baskets And the patriarchs' mind hands on the light of a hundred lamps That the stubborn hordes withdraw of themselves and the people live Hangs altogether on the king's single piece of incense