Poem – The Consecration 

Joy! joy in bright Ayodhya gladness filled the hearts of all,

Joy! joy a lofty music sounded in the royal hall,
Fourteen years of woe were ended, Rama now assumed his own,

And they placed the weary wand’rer on his father’s ancient throne,
And they brought the sacred water from each distant stream and hill,

From the vast and boundless ocean, from each far and sacred rill.
Vasishtha, the Bard of Vedas with auspicious rites and meet

Placed the monarch and his consort on the gemmed and jewelled seat,
Gautama. and Katyayana, Vamadeva priest of yore,

Jabali and wise Vijaya verged in holy ancient lore,
Poured the fresh and fraurant water on the consecrated kine,

As the Gods anointed INDRA from the pure ethereal spring!
Vedic priests with sacred mantra, dark-eyed virgins with their song,

Warriors girt in arms and weapons round the crownéd monarch throng,
Juices from each fragrant creeper on his royal brow they place,

And his father’s crown and jewels Rama’s ample forehead grace,
And as Manu, first of monarchs, was enthroned in days of yore,

So was Rama consecrated by the priests of Vedic lore!
Brave Satrughna on his brother cast the white umbrella’s shade

Bold Sugriva and Bibhishan waved the chowri gem-inlaid,
VAYU, God of gentle zephyrs, gift of golden garland lent,

INDRA, God of rain and sunshine, wreath of pearls to Rama sent,
Gay Gandharvas raised the music, fair Apsaras formed the ring,

Men in nations hailed their Rama as their lord and righteous king!
And tis told by ancient sages, during Rama’s happy reign,

Death untimely, dire diseases came not to his subject men,
Widows wept not in their sorrow for their lords untimely lost,

Mothers wailed not in their anguish for their babes by YAMA crost,
Robbers, cheats, and gay deceivers tempted not with lying word,

Neighbour loved his righteous neighbour and the people loved their lord!
Trees their ample produce yielded as returning seasons went,

And the earth in grateful gladness never failing harvest lent,
Rains descended in their season, never came the blighting gale,

Rich in crop and rich in pasture was each soft and smiling vale,
Loom and anvil gave their produce and the tilled and fertile soil,

And the nation lived rejoicing in their old ancestral. 

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