Classic Poem

Oh, sacred Nergal! on thy high throne stately,
Protect us now, for we respect thee greatly.
Judge of the golden scepter, vast and holy,
Guard us from evil's messengers, we pray thee.
Our lives are given and fettered to obey thee.
We worship thee alone, thy glory solely!

Thou art alone our master pure and rightful;
In thee are all things perfect and delightful:
Thou, thou alone of heavenly kings art regal!
We bow before thee in our utter rankness,
In all our sin's ignoble, naked frankness;
Thy mandates to our souls are ever legal.

For thee, oh Nebo, thunderful and glorious!
We, thy poor slaves, are loving and laborious;
Around thy shrines the zonahs strike loud cymbals.
Dawn, day and night we worship and we praise thee
With holy brass, and golden altars raise thee,
Amid the clashing of a thousand tymbals.

Before thy brow multipotent and lustrous,
Bow countless legions of the rabble blustrous,
Before thy holy sword that flashes lightning,
Ay, to thy throne of spices and of scarlet,
The priest, the slave, the stranger and the harlot
Come on their knees thy praises ever heightening.

Each day thy templed grees are stained and gory
With human blood to sanctify thy glory;
Our crimson hands for thee are never idle,
For thee we slay the tamar-scented maiden
Who with strong faith approaches, jewel-laden,
To woo thee by her death to awful bridal.

To thee our king, great Bera proud and splendid,
Prays on his knees when the cool dawn hath ended,
He, of all earthly kings the puissant leader,
Who brings thee tribute of sweet nard delicious,
Stacte and gold to crave thy glance propitious,
With many slaves, and cinnamon and cedar!

Before thy throne majestic, god tremendous!
Crawl in a drowsy ecstasy, stupendous,
The sacred serpents in calm adoration;
They curl around thy worshipers who perish,
Crushed in damp folds, but, dying, only cherish
The hope to win thy smile as compensation.

Oh Nergal! in thy many-pillared palace,
Be not unto our supplications callous;
See us with blood upon our brows, and bless us,
Give us thy strength to battle with the foemen,
Open our souls by thy portentous omen,
And spare us, master, for our sins distress us!

The night had come; the city was aflame
With lust, and music, and continual song,
And through the crowded streets the people passed,
Unconscious of the dawning of a care.
Shinab, the King of Admah, with a suite
Of many chieftains of his tribe, had come
To bow before King Bera, Sodom's king,
And King Shemeber, lord of Zeboim,
And Birsha, the divine and holy one,
King of Gomorrah, the great sister town,
Having saluted all the city's gods,
And having filled the city's ways with gold,
Were seated in King Bera's banquet hall
And entertained by melodies of harps.
And all the people praised the god-given kings,
Chatted, and were most merry of their lives,
And mocked the moon, and laughed with strangers there.

Then the gay zonah, bearing her silk tent,
Passed by and flashed her lovely eyes about,
To tempt the people to come in with her,
And in her luring beauty paused and sang: