Classic Poem

Great Merodach, first-born of gods, we hail thee!
We slay with fire the foes that dare assail thee!
Oh, mighty god of war and desolation!
In thee there dwells no pity and no error.
Thy glance is death, thy very name is terror,
Thy touch is flame, thy breath extermination!

Great Hea, lord of all the earth, we praise thee!
Spice-burning altars we forever raise thee.
Thou art the god majestic of all rivers,
And in our sacred violet robes we wonder
When overhead we hear thy ominous thunder,
When mighty Babylon in stupor quivers!

Great El, of gods the highest, we adore thee!
In deep humility we bow before thee.
Thou art the lord of Sumir green and flowerful;
Thou reignest pure above the earth's affliction;
Thy voice is one of peace and benediction;
We hail thy august shadow, calm and powerful!

Great Sin! before thine altars rot the corses
Of hundreds captured by our armored forces,
And from the moon, where thou dost have thy dwelling,
Thou canst look down and canst behold the gory
And withered heads that now attest thy glory,
And hear thy praise through twenty temples swelling!

Prodigious Bin! god of the deafening thunder
And all the gems that in the world lie under,
Protect us from the insolence of foemen;
Blight with thy breath the curses that distress us;
With fertile fields and heavy harvests bless us;
Disclose thy presence by some sudden omen!

Stupendous Dagon! god of waves and fishes,
Harken, we pray thee, to our humble wishes;
Fill thy true people's nets with rare provision;
Save from the havoc of the angry waters
The labors of our city's sons and daughters,
And we can taunt the storm-fiend in derision!

And, oh Mylitta! in sweet generation
We beg of thee to multiply our nation;
Let not our supple maidens perish sterile;
Guard them, thy chosen, from the fiends infernal;
May they grow fructuous as the meadows vernal;
And save their beauty from the city's peril.

And thou, oh Nisroch! thou, the eagle-headed,
Thou, the malignant wonder, stern and dreaded,
Guard us from sin and from all disaffection;
Upon bare knees we worship thee as holy;
In thee our faith is ever centered solely;
Grant us, great god, thy treasureful protection!

Then, like a wind that bursts in a simoom,
The royal archers, passing through the gates,
Rushed quickly toward the temple, for they hoped
To hail the king and thunder forth their praise;
For they knew well how he admired their songs.
So, singing in their rancous soldier way,
They told their prowess to the listening town,
Forever gladdened when these favorites passed.