Singing alone beside a mountain creek, his brass gong keeps tempo.
The wise gentleman has no worry and no fear.
Talking to himself, answering himself.
Happy land, happy land.
Singing alone at the foot of a hill, accompanied by his brass gong.
The wise gentleman has left human affairs behind.
Cooking by himself, eating by himself, with no fixed abode.
Peace has found his soul.
Singing alone on a rocky mound, tapping his brass gong.
The wise gentleman steeps in tranquility.
Sleeping by himself, waking by himself.
This happiness: how many people can comprehend?