Well might he thus complain!
"O Heaven, what crimes have we to own,
That death and ruin still come down?
Relentless famine fills our graves.
Pity the king who humbly craves!
Our miseries never cease.
To every Spirit I have vowed;
The choicest victim's blood has flowed.
As offerings I have freely paid
My store of gems and purest jade.
Hear me, and give release!
"The drought consumes us. As on wing
Its fervors fly, and torment bring.
With purest mind and ceaseless care
My sacrifices I prepare.
At thine own border altars, Heaven,
And in my father's fane, I've given
What might relief have found.
What Powers above, below, have sway,
To all my precious gifts I pay,
Then bury in the ground.
Yes, every Spirit has received
Due honor, and, still unrelieved,
Our sufferings greater grow.
How-tseih can't give the needed aid,
And help from God is still delayed!
The country lies a ruined waste.
O would that I alone might taste
This bitter cup of woe!
"The drought consumes us. Nor do I
To fix the blame on others try.
I quake with dread; the risk I feel,
As when I hear the thunders peal,
Or fear its sudden crash.
Our black-haired race, a remnant now,
Will every one be swept from Chow,
As by the lightning's flash.
Nor I myself will live alone.
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