If the firewood of literature are too few,
the sparks of contemplation cannot ignite.
If the sparks of contemplation are too few,
the firewood of body and mind cannot ignite.
Once firewood burns and turns to ashes,
ashes disperse, as does the body and mind.
The lucid light of truth,
its brightness differs not as inner or outer light;
Passing from the self to others,
a single lamp spreads into a hundred thousand lights.
For a hundred thousand years, it is passed,
illuminating eternally like daylight.
A whole world forever without night,
such are the merits of literature as firewood.
Thus there are the wise,
who obtain literature as if attaining the mind.
Outside the mind, no dharmas exist,
literature is the light of the mind.
As light illuminates the faculty of sight,
no forms will ever cling to the eye.