"A thousand pilgrims strain
Arm, shoulder, breast, and thigh, with might and main,
To drag that sacred wain,
And scarce can draw along the enormous load.
Prone fall the frantic votaries on the road,
And calling on the God
Their self-devoted bodies there they lay
To pave his chariot way.
On Jaga-Naut they call,
The ponderous car rolls on, and crushes all,