 | The book of the dead |  |
163
[LXXIX. Great God, I cannot bear this thing]
Great God, I cannot bear this thing!
Shall his, the name I honored so,
Hang out for every wasp to sting,
And every carrion-fly to blow?
Shall his, the name I honored so,
Hang out for every wasp to sting,
And every carrion-fly to blow?
I held thee sacred here on earth;
Thy precept was my guiding light;
How holy, how divine thy worth
Shines on me from its starry height!
Thy precept was my guiding light;
How holy, how divine thy worth
Shines on me from its starry height!
Dear Soul, within thy mortal clay
Was nothing selfish, nothing small;
Shalt thou become the helpless prey
Of the foul worms that o'er thee crawl?
Was nothing selfish, nothing small;
Shalt thou become the helpless prey
Of the foul worms that o'er thee crawl?
Thy name was carved in spotless white;
So shone the record on thy death;
Shall skulking cowards of the night
Defile it with their slanderous breath?
So shone the record on thy death;
Shall skulking cowards of the night
Defile it with their slanderous breath?
164
Forbid it, God! Thus humbly bowed,
I cry for justice at Thy hand!
Flash downward from a stooping cloud,
And raze the liars from the land!
I cry for justice at Thy hand!
Flash downward from a stooping cloud,
And raze the liars from the land!
| The book of the dead | |