I often think of Master Zhu Xi, whose merits rivaled Yu the Great.
Throughout his life, he upheld the five human bonds, a pillar in a declining age.
Mountains and seas long nurtured him; heaven and earth richly endowed him.
His lofty clarity hangs like the autumn moon; his meticulousness splits the finest thread.
Looking around, none match Xun or Yang; his entire being is Yi and Lü.
He succeeded Cheng and Shao after a century, inheriting Zou and Lu for a thousand years.
Soaring straight to connect with Xun and Hua, ever farther, ever unyielding.
The root and source are all visible; branches and streams follow their own order.
Thus he made celestial order ranked, allowing eyes to see it anew.
Between Jianyan and Chunxi reigns, the three bonds scattered without master.
Foes wielded the mighty sword; profit and desire flooded the nine lands.
Bowing, he presented stone inscriptions, earnestly speaking of rectifying the heart.
Wishing to rouse the lord with thunder, pouring rain to cleanse the world.
The sage's heart went unanswered; vast, emerald mist departed.
Had his words been heeded then, how could it only repay a thousand ages?
Clearing weeds and opening wilds, combing and washing wounds to heal.
A splendid plan for ten thousand generations, yet a hundred years passed so swiftly.
Heaven's will, after all, did not turn back; earth's energy could not be opposed.
But he left the Four Books, opening Yao and Yu for all eternity.
Deep emerald separates the desolate terrace; desolate, the tools to summon souls.
At midnight, reading the Doctrine of the Mean, sweeping through the sky with wind and rain.