Hymn To Horus

Hail, God revived in glory! The night is over and done; Far mountains wrinkled and hoary, Fair cities great in story, Flash in the rising sun. Behold the Dawn uncloses The shutters of the night; The Waste and her oases Blossoms a rose of roses Beneath thy rose-red light. Hail, golden House of Horus, Lap of heaven's holiest God! From lotos-banks before us Birds in ecstatic chorus Fly, singing, from the sod. Up, up, into the shining, Translucent morning sky, No longer dull and pining, With drooping plumes declining, The storks and eagles fly. The Nile amid his rushes Reflects thy risen disk; A light of gladness gushes Through kindling halls, and flushes Each flaming Obelisk. Vast Temples catch thy splendour; Vistas of columns shine Celestial, with a tender Rose-bloom on every slender Papyrus-pillared shrine. In manifold disguises, And under many names, Thrice-holy son of Isis, We worship him who rises A child-god fledged in flames. Hail, sacred Hawk, who, winging, Crossest the heavenly sea! With harp-playing, with singing, With linen robes, white clinging, We come, fair God, to thee. Thou whom our soul espouses, When weary of the way, Enter our golden houses, And, with thy mystic spouses, Rest from the long, long way.