The Song of Baal

Man has rent younder azure veil and, beyond the sky, has seen no God.

What is there in man’s heart but thoughts, like waves this upsurging and that fleeing?

His soul takes repose in the sensible; would that the past age might return!

Long live the European orientalist who has drawn us forth from the tomb!

Ancient gods, our time has come!

Behold, the ring of unity is broken, Abraham’s people have lost the joy of Alast;

Its company is scattered, its cup in fragments, the cup which was drunken with the wine of Gabriel.

Free man has fallen into the bonds of directions, joined up with fatherland and parted from God;

His blood is cold of the glory of the ancients, the Elder of the Sanctuary has tied the Magian girdle.

Ancient gods, our time has come!

The days of joy have returned to the world, religion has been routed by sovereignty and lineage.

What thought is there now of the lamp of the Chosen One, seeing that a hundred Bu Lahabs blow it out?

Though the cry ‘There is no god’ rises up still how should that remain on the lips which has gone from the heart?

The West’s enchantment has revived Ahriman; the day of God is pale-cheeked, fearful of the night.

Ancient gods, our time has come!

Religion’s chain must be loosed from his neck, our slave was ever a free slave;

Since the ritual prayers are heavy for him, we seek only one prayer, and that without prostration.

Passions are elevated by songs, so what pleasure is there in prayers without hymns?

Better the demon that makes itself visible than a God to whom the Unseen is meet.

Ancient gods, our time has come!