And all the roads which lead into the town
Are crowded with the hurrying steps of men,
Who have been coming from the north and south,
And east and west;
That they may see the city on this day,
And celebrate the praise of Demeter.
Are they not weary toiling through the night?
Is it not long before the dawn is breaking?
Shall not the pilgrims gladden in the light?
When the God shall burst forth, the powers of darkness shaking.
No, we are not weary, if the night is long;
Nay, it is not long before the dawn is breaking.
For there rises oft the solemn swelling song
While our holy priest his offering is making.
Demeter all holy, see we toil to meet thee,
From the distant parts of thy beloved land;
Demeter all holy, shall we ever see thee
Standing in thy majesty, while countless as the sand
On yonder shore, the multitude adore thee
As thou blessest all men with thy loving hand?
Athens is thy dwelling place:
Holy mother, give us grace.
In the town thy temple stands
Bright, all marble from thine hands,
While the gathering people kneel, journeying from many lands.
Is that thy priest who stands within the town?
Is that thy choir whose thunders roar and swell?
Hail to thee most mighty, great be thy renown,
While minstrels sing, and priests thy glory tell.
