The Plate of Gold by Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) is an allegorical poem, one put down to us as a religious and philanthropic note, extended to correct what it ails us, what it pains us. It counters and contradicts the common opinion with regard to searching of God externally rather than internally and one cannot without being charitable, philanthropic, righteous, virtuous, good and noble. Can one in the absence of charity, nobility, virtue, kindness, mercy and righteousness?

The Plate of Gold by Leigh Hunt is a poem built around the anti-thesis of where God is in reality and that it has some moral to impart and give. The poem is allegorical and it can be compared with the poems of C.G, Rossetti and John Bunyan. George Herbert’s poems too are so. Aldous Huxley’s Benares as a prose-piece too is an excellent one. What Hunt wrote it long ago, even now the Indian English poets may not. We often exclude them calling English. It is a poem on Kashi, Viswanath. It is a poem of love, charity and philanthropy. It is a poem of good virtues and nobility. Who is it noble and good? Who is pure? Where is virtue? God is not in purity and piety merely. God is in service. If the heart is pure, God is therein.

One day a plate of gold fell from heaven on the temple premises. It was a wonderful plate. At midday it fell it with the inscription over, dictation given, "To him who loveth best, a gift from Heaven."

The priests announced for the reward to be given to the right man to be decided. Efforts to search were started so that the righteous fellow could be got to be given. How to select; was the problem?

The message reached far and wide, the news got sent across. People came from all walks of life claiming the plate. But God knows whose plate it was.

The poet means to say that Viswanath is in the heart; is in good actions of man. Purity is good no doubt, but philanthropy is not less. Whom will God bestow, none can say it. Benares is no doubt a center of pilgrimage, but goodness too is something to be reckoned with. 

The Plate of God contradicts what we hold it true, good and holy. Who is pure from his within? Who is good and righteous after all? It is a fine poem of Benares ever written in the history of Indian literature.

Who should be assigned the job? Who to take care of the poor? Who to take care of the infirm and the weak?

One day when the plate of gold falls in the temple-court of Benares, priests assemble to discuss the giving of the plate to the most charitable and virtuous one and for it the search starts on for the suitable candidate. Keeping it in view, priests make the proclamation and the people from different rank and file come to  claim the gift. The priests debate and discuss the methodology, hold parleys and those wanting to stake a claim tell their stories to satisfy the board. But none is able satisfy and even if the priests decide it over, heavens keep it rejecting and turning it into base metals. They take it for the donor of lands the suitable candidate, but Divinity rejects it outright.  

Again, after a gap of some time, the priests think it right to distribute it among the maimed beggars sitting in rows near the temple gate, but this too gets it not the proper nod or indication. Taking it be the right thing to do, some rain coins on them, into the bowls of theirs, but this too comes to naught. But this gesture too is not admired as their looks had been cold enough to be appreciated. Those who gave had no mentality of serving them. They just gave money averting their gaze.

In the end of all there comes a peasant whose eyes are wet with tears on seeing the shriveled beggars. He is moved to tears and is sad to see the poor fellows and he wants to help them. But on seeing the peasant, the priest brings the plate closer to him to try to feel the effect of placing it into his hands, The moment he gives since then it starts shining thrice and the priest gets coxed not, drawn to believe it is his. He hands the plate to the peasant which he bows before and keeps kneeling before the Lord in utter submission and humility of the heart.

One day there fell in great Benares' temple-court
A wondrous plate of gold, whereon these words were writ;
"To him who loveth best, a gift from Heaven."
                                       Thereat.
The priests made proclamation: "At the midday hour,
Each day, let those assemble who for virtue deem
their right to Heaven's gift the best; and we will hear
the deeds of mercy done, and so adjudge."
                                        The news
ran swift as light, and soon from every quarter came
nobles and munshis, hermits, scholars, holy men,
and all renowned for gracious or for splendid deeds,
meanwhile the priests in solemn council sat and heard
what each had done to merit best the gift of Heaven.
So for a year the claimants came and went.
                                          At last,
after a patient weighing of the worth of all,
the priests bestowed the plate of gold on one who seemed,
the largest lover of the race - whose whole estate,
within the year had been parted among the poor.
This man, all trembling with his joy, advanced to take
the golden plate-when lo! at his finger's first touch
it changed to basest lead! All stood aghast; but when
the hapless claimant dropt it clanging on the floor,
Heaven's guerdon was again transformed to shining gold.

So for another twelve month sat he priests and judged.
Thrice they awarded-thrice did Heaven refuse the gift.
Meanwhile a host of poor, maimed beggars in the street
lay all about the temple gate, in hope to move
that love whereby each claimant hoped to win the gift
and well for them it was (if gold be charity),
for every pilgrim to the temple gate praised God.
that love might thus approve itself before the test,
and so coins rained freely in the outstretched hands;
but none of those who gave, so much as turned to look
into the poor sad eyes of them that begged.
                                         And now
The second year had almost passed, but still the plate
of gold, by whomsoever touched was turned to lead.
At length there came a simple peasant-not aware
of that strange contest for the gift of God-to pay
a vow within the temple. As he passed along
the line of shrivelled beggars, all his soul was moved
within him to sweet pity, and the tears well up
and trembled in his eyes.
                                         Now by the temple gate
there lay a poor, sore creature, blind, and shunned by all;
but when the peasant came, and saw the sightless face
and trembling, maimed hands he could not pass, but knelt,
and took both palms in his, and softly said: "O thou,
my brother! bear the trouble bravely. God is good."
The he arose and walked straightway across the court,
and entered where they wrangled of their deeds of love
before the priests.
                                        A while he listened sadly; then
had turned away; but something moved the priest who held
the plate of gold to beckon to the peasant. So
he came, not understanding and obeyed, and stretched
his hand and took the sacred vessel. Lo! it shone
with thrice its former lustre, and amazed them all!
"Son", cried the priest, "rejoice, the gift of God is thine.
Thou lovest best!" And all made answer, "It is well."
And, one by one, departed. But the peasant knelt
and prayed, bowing his head above the golden plate;
while o'er his soul like morning streamed the love of God.

Service to man is service to God, is the thing that Leigh Hunt means to communicate to us. God is love.  He is in sympathy and affection. He is in charity and philanthropy.

We wonder how Leigh Hunt could write a poem on Benares! How could his conscience contradict religiosity!