Thanking the Duke of Jinyang Again for Sending White Rice又謝晉陽公送白粲

I am by nature a man hard pressed and of thin fortune. My name is that of a chief minister, yet I am poorer than ordinary men, and the stipend I receive is sparse, so that, as with the starving in Chen (陳), the days on which my provisions have run out have been long.

Then suddenly, out of your loving kindness, you sent me ten bushels of white rice, and the whole household has clapped its hands for joy and all together pray that you may live ten thousand years. The kindness is truly beyond reckoning, and how should I weigh my gratitude over again? The tears flow outwardly and the feeling stirs within. I have therefore made the effort to write one poem of thanks and present it to you.

I am clumsy even at keeping house—how much more at planning for myself. I lie groaning in sickness, and my provisions have run out besides. I knew already that in a year of famine the state granaries are empty, and with my stipend sparse I feel my household's poverty the more. A single sheet of writing flew in through the deep vermilion gate, and ten bushels of new white rice have come and been heaped up. How should this bestowal have begun only today? Thinking back, it has been frequent from last year on. The kindness of having pushed me up into the blue clouds is like the sea; and throwing me bead-like rice one gift after another, your bounty is like spring. The servants, sallow with hunger, clap their hands together, and my wife and children, who filled their bellies with herbs, smooth out their furrowed faces. Those who crowd in rejoicing and fill the room are all my kinsfolk, and those who come to congratulate and throng the gate are the near neighbours. The red sincerity with which we pray for your long life must move even Heaven, and burning incense I point far off to the cedrela (大椿) that is said to live eight thousand years.