The satraps were marshaled in glittering line
And emptied their beakers of sparkling wine.
The beakers they clinked, and the satraps' hurras
in the ears of the stiff-necked King rang his praise.
The King's hot cheeks were with revel dyed,
The wine made swell his heart with pride.
Blind madness his haughty stomach spurred,
And he slandered the Godhead with sinful word,
And strutting in pride he blasphemed, the crowd
Of servile courtiers applauding loud.
The King commanded with haughty stare;
The slave was gone, and again was there.
Much wealth of gold on his head bare he;
'Twas reft from Jehovah's sanctuary.
And the King took hold of a sacred cup
With his impious hand, and they filled it up;
And he drank to the bottom in one deep draught,
And loud, the foam on his lips, he laughed:
"Jehovah! Thy glories I spit upon;
I am the King of Babylon!"