I have done my share.
Mother Earth must do the rest.

When the Holy One comes back from meditation, tell him.' There stood an empty bullock-cart on a little knoll half a mile away, with a young banyan tree behind--a look-out, as it were, above some new-ploughed levels; and his eyelids, bathed in soft air, grew heavy as he neared it.

The ground was good clean dust--no new herbage that, living, is half-way to death already, but the hopeful dust that holds the seeds of all life.

He felt it between his toes, patted it with his palms, and joint by joint, sighing luxuriously, laid him down full length along in the shadow of the wooden-pinned cart.

And Mother Earth was as faithful as the Sahiba.