They clear away the grass and trees;
Their tilling loosens up the soil.
In a thousand pairs they tear out weeds,
Along the lowlands and the paths.
There are the master and his eldest son,
The other sons and their children,
The strong helpers and servants.
Many food baskets are brought;
Lovely are the ladies,
Hearty are their husbands.
And now with spades so sharp
They set to work on the southern acres.
They sow the many sorts of grain,
Seeds that contain life.
Then the sprouts emerge;
How sleek the young stalks;
Very sleek, the young grain!
And the weeders go out in multitudes.
Then come the reapers in crowds
And pile the harvest in stacks.
Myriads, millions and billions of them.
To make beer and sweet ale,
To offer to our ancestors,
And provide for all the ceremonies.
When the fragrance of our offerings is sweet,
Glory shall come to the dynasty;
When the aroma is strong,
It gives comfort to the elders.
It is not only here;
It is not only now;
From of old it has been thus.
—Sacrificial hymn from the Book of Odes, c. ninth century BCE