From Rudyard Kipling's Puck of Pook's Hill.
(In Songs from Books and verse this poem is subtitled 'Hymn of the XXX Legion: Circa A.D. 350'.) In which the spirit of Mithraism can seen.
Mithras, God of the Morning, our trumpets waken the wall!
'Rome is above the Nations, but Thou art over all'
Now as the names are answered, and the guards are marched away,
Mithras, also a solider, give us strenght for the day!
Mithras, God of the Noontide, the heather swims in the heat,
Our helmets scorch our foreheads; our sandals burn our feet,
Now in the ungrit hour; now ere we blink and drowse,
Mithras also a solider, keep us true to our vows!
Mithras, God of the Sunset, low on the Western main,
Thou descending immortal, immortal to rise again!
Now when the watch is eneded, now when the wine is drawn
Mithras also a solider, keep us pure till the dawn!
Mithras, God of Midnight, here where the great bull dies,
Look on thy childern in darkness. Oh take our sacrifice!
Many roads Thou has fashioned: all of them lead to the Light,
Mithras, also a solider, teach us to die aright.
The sun is setting low on the western horizon
sky serpent swallowing him once more
yule night has arrived, sun's longest slumber.
we eat and drink all that is red
wine, pomergranate and watermelon,
The colour of dawn, a reminder of what we eagerly wait for.
Shamash, Marduk
descending immortals, you'll rise again
Apollo, Ra salutations to you.
good night Osiris, weak and tired lying in your coffin
enclosed by darkness, tricked by Set again!
an infant sun is born, Horus soaring up onto the sky.
Mithras born of a rock and out from the cave
becoming sol invictus and turning the wheel
darkness, now a fading memory.
Payam Yule'96