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; 1645
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, 1650
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; 1655
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. 1660
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; 1665
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, 1670
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. 1675
Ancient gods, our time has come!