The devotee who develops true love for the Lord cannot live without Him. Kabir compares such a devotee to an alert gardener who channels the water of attention in the right direction and looks after the flowerbeds day and night. From the divine well of love, the devotee draws cool and pure water; his garden never fades because the Lord himself acts as its protector.

Kabir also compares the devotee's inner being to a field where the Master has planted the seed of love and carefully tends it by removing the weeds, the obstacles of the devotee's wayward mind. Only the true lover brings in the produce and reaches his Home carrying the rich harvest of love; others, posing as devotees but making no effort to obtain spiritual wealth, only pick up a few spilled grains and gain nothing spiritually.

The lake of love within me,
O Kabir, overflows its banks
And I can no longer live
Without my beloved Lord.

Strengthen the water channel,
Irrigate the seedbeds
So the plant of divine love
Can thrive and grow.

The lake of love within overflows;
Without the Lord, Kabir can live no more.

Within the garden of the body
The alert gardener day and night
Tends the beds.
Ever vigilant, he never sleeps.
He controls the channels
That lead the water astray.

The lake of love within overflows;
Without the Lord, Kabir can live no more.

The well within is brimming
With water cool and pure;
There the world's evil winds
Never blow.

Thus the lake of love overflows;
Without the Lord, Kabir can live no more.

I am, indeed, fortunate,
For the Lord, in his grace,
Himself looks after my garden;
And the garden does not have to face
The dreary decline of autumn.

Kabir, the lake of love overflows;
Without the Lord I can live no more.

My Master planted
The seed of divine love,
He husbanded the farm well,
He helped me remove the weeds
Of my wayward mind.

Now the lake of love overflows,
And without the Lord I can live no more.

Only the true devotee
Reaps a perfect harvest;
The rest try to pick up spilled grains
But fail to earn true benefit.
Those who reach Home
Enjoy the harvest of bliss,
Their efforts crowned with glory.

Their lake of love, O Kabir, overflows,
And without the Lord they can live no more.

Says Kabir: Listen, friends,
The praise of such divine lovers
I can never adequately sing.

K.G., p. 120:216
Kabirā prem kool dharai