Sibiti shunu, sibiti shunu,
Sibit adi shina shunu.
They are seven, they are seven,
They are seven twice over.
There are seven of them in heaven,
There are seven of them in hell.
They are neither male nor female,
They are childless and unmarried.
Whirlwinds that bring destruction
Do not know what mercy is,
Do not bend their ear to prayer.
They are evil, they are mighty,
They are seven, they are seven!
But nothing helped the patient—neither the medicines nor the spells, nor even the healing water from the well of the Sun in Heliopolis, where the god Ra washed his face when he lived on earth.
In vain old Asa whispered the incantation:
Mother Isis cries
From the top of the hill:
"Horus my son,
The hill is on fire,
Bring me water,
Quench the fire."
The fire of the fever would not be quenched.
In vain the queen read over her daughter the prayer of Mother Isis. When a scorpion stung baby Horus she cried to the sun and the sun was darkened, night was upon the earth until the god Tot healed the baby and gave it back to its mother. Since then the magical prayer of Isis had always been read over sick children.
"Stand still, O Sun, stand still until the child is restored to its mother!" the queen repeated with frenzied entreaty, but she knew the miracle would not happen, the sun would not stop.
She recalled the hymn to Aton:
Thou conquerest all through love,
Thou soothest the babe in the womb
Before its mother can soothe it.
But now He failed to soothe her.