The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
Him, the great T‘ang, of merit vast, our king
Asks by this music to descend, and bring
To us, the worshipers, the soothing sense
That he, the object of desire intense,
Is here. Deep are the sounds the drums emit,
And now we hear the flutes, which shrilly fit
Into the diapason:—concord great,
Which the sonorous gem doth regulate!
Majestic is our king of T‘ang's great line,
Whose instruments such qualities combine. p. 479
Large bells we hear, which with the drums have place,
While in the court the dancers move with grace.
Scions of ancient kings the service view,
Pleased and delighted, guests of goodness true.
Such service we received from former days,
Down from our sires, who showed us virtue's ways,—
How to be meek and mild, from morn to night,
And reverently discharge our parts aright.
May T‘ang accept the rites his son thus pays,
As round the summer comes, and autumn days!