A Hymn to MarsMars, most-strong, gold-helm’d, making chariots crack;Never without a shield cast on thy back;Mind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven;Strong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven;Father of victory with fair strokes given;Joint surrogate of justice, lest she fallIn unjust strifes a tyrant; generalOnly of just men justly; that dost bearFortitude’s sceptre, to heaven’s fiery sphereGiver of circular motion, betweenThat and the Pleiads that still wand’ring been,Where thy still-vehemently-flaming horseAbout the third heaven make their fiery course;Helper of mortals; hear!—As thy fires giveThe fair and present boldnesses that striveIn youth for honour, being the sweet-beam’d lightThat darts into their lives, from all their height,The fortitudes and fortunes found in fight;So would I likewise wish to have the pow’rTo keep off from my head thy bitter hour,And that false fire, cast from my soul’s low kind,Stoop to the fit rule of my highest mind,Controlling that so eager sting of wrathThat stirs me on still to that horrid scatheOf war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen(Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men.But O thou Ever-Blessed! give me stillPresence of mind to put in act my will,Varied, as fits, to all occasion;And to live free, unforc’d, unwrought upon,Beneath those laws of peace that never areAffected with pollutions popularOf unjust hurt, or loss to anyone;And to bear safe the burthen undergoneOf foes inflexive, and inhuman hates,Secure from violent and harmful fates.
Mars, most-strong, gold-helm’d, making chariots crack;Never without a shield cast on thy back;Mind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven;Strong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven;Father of victory with fair strokes given;Joint surrogate of justice, lest she fallIn unjust strifes a tyrant; generalOnly of just men justly; that dost bearFortitude’s sceptre, to heaven’s fiery sphereGiver of circular motion, betweenThat and the Pleiads that still wand’ring been,Where thy still-vehemently-flaming horseAbout the third heaven make their fiery course;Helper of mortals; hear!—As thy fires giveThe fair and present boldnesses that striveIn youth for honour, being the sweet-beam’d lightThat darts into their lives, from all their height,The fortitudes and fortunes found in fight;So would I likewise wish to have the pow’rTo keep off from my head thy bitter hour,And that false fire, cast from my soul’s low kind,Stoop to the fit rule of my highest mind,Controlling that so eager sting of wrathThat stirs me on still to that horrid scatheOf war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen(Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men.But O thou Ever-Blessed! give me stillPresence of mind to put in act my will,Varied, as fits, to all occasion;And to live free, unforc’d, unwrought upon,Beneath those laws of peace that never areAffected with pollutions popularOf unjust hurt, or loss to anyone;And to bear safe the burthen undergoneOf foes inflexive, and inhuman hates,Secure from violent and harmful fates.