How wondrous, this divine sword, truly rare!
Since ancient times, few seekers gain such ware.
In sheath, they say it lacks a shining light;
When used, its brilliance turns to dazzling bright.
It shatters doubt, dispels uncertainty,
Steels heart and mind, and sets the spirit free.
The six thieves, once by this sword swept away,
And worldly toils, all vanish in its sway.
It slays the wicked, purges evil spawn,
Decides life, death, glory, and decay as one.
A three-foot spirit snake submerges in jade pool;
A slice of clear light glows on moon cold and cool.
Fools, forgetting the sword, strain boats to seek,
Rush through muddy waves, efforts vain and weak.
They spurn clear source to chase the turbid tide,
Not knowing this sword won't with currents ride.
Others' swords reek of blood and gore;
My sword contains a spirit's call and lore.
Others wield swords to take all life;
My sword is used to end all strife.
The noble, gaining it, transcends all sides;
The base, attaining it, their own life derides.
Their house won't use the sword from mine,
Yet high and low in time will align.
Know this sword's merit is hard to trace,
Its demon-quelling might decides life's race.
For those not having it, ease turns to plight;
For those possessing it, hard turns to light.
Unsheathed, it spreads through Dharma's boundless sphere;
Sheathed, it returns to a single dust mote here.
If this sword were to guard the world's domain,
No war clouds would from any border rise again.