For Montu, who is not in his grave

Hail to you Montu, lord of war
hawk-headed, lion-bodied, raging like a bull.
Ferocious one who makes his dwelling in Thebes,
Unconquered smiter of the foe,
Radiant in your power and terrible in your manifestations.
Your bread is the bones of the enemy,
your wine the blood spilled out in battle.
You come like a bolt of lightning, striking the earth,
sowing fear among the ranks of the Nine-bow people.
Your roar causes their arms to go limp,
your teeth-gnashing is echoed in the sound of their shields falling to the ground
and their sandals slapping the earth as they run off like scared little children.
You pounce into the press of fighting bodies
and tear through armor with your sharp claws.
Their swords break and are useless.
Their wails are music to your ears.
Their death cries bring great gladness to your heart.
You crush their throats and devour their flesh,
and when thousands lay dead before you,
you perform the dance of victory upon their corpses.
You are invincible, and even the great gods of the Ennead
tremble when you come before them,
bathed in blood and wearing the trangressor’s gore as your head-dress.
Hail to you, Montu, defender of the just,
upholder of the balance, he who keeps the precious land safe from invaders.
This you do for the King of Upper and Lower Egypt,
so that it may rightly be said that the power of Montu lies in his heart
and all men fear his might.
And he in return recites your blessings,
builds many fine temples to honor you,
and offers sumptuous sacrifices to you on your solemn feast days.