Never hath Night so longed for the promise of the Dawn; never hath the
heart of a lover so passionately desired the sweet coming of his bride,
as I longed to see Thy glorious face, O Isis! Even now that I have been
faithless to Thee, and Thou art far from me, O Divine! my soul goes out
to Thee, and once more I know----But as it is bidden that I should
draw the veil, and speak of things which have not been told since the
beginning of this world, let me pass on and reverently set down the
history of that holy morn.
For seven days the great festival had been celebrated, the suffering of
the Lord Osiris had been commemorated, the grief of the Mother Isis had
been sung and glory had been done to the memory of the coming of the
Divine Child Horus, the Son, the Avenger, the God-begot. All these
things had been carried out according to the ancient rites. The boats
had floated on the sacred lake, the priests had scourged themselves
before the sanctuaries, and the images had been borne through the
streets at night.
And now, as the sun sank on the seventh day, once more the great
procession gathered to chant the woes of Isis and tell how the evil was
avenged. We went in silence from the temple, and passed through the city
ways. First came those who clear the path, then my father Amenemhat in
all his priestly robes, and the wand of cedar in his hand.
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