All Praise to Thee, Tsathoggua, dark lord

Of darksome realms! Before thine ebon throne

Lost wraiths bewail their fate

With many an echoing groan

And wander sightless through the frightful glooms

Of sub-Eiglophian caves. Thou didst reward

Their unrepentant insolence, displayed

Before thy toadlike templed eidolons,

With monstrous dooms.

From them thy vengeance was not stayed,

Nor shall their horrid punishment abata

Till all the peaks of high Voormithadreth

Are ground to grit in icy eschatons.

 

O lord of foulsome life and fearsome death,

To thee our fealty

Repay thy gifts of Necromantic Arts

With offerings of red and pulsing hearts

Given in thanks on thine ensanguined altar;

And, to avenge all crass impiety,

Our serpent-venomed dirks will never falter.

 

Now hear our plea.

O lord of black encaverned spaces, 

Whose jet-dark orbs, though night-enmired, yet see

Into all secret subterranean places,

And whose black-furred, bat-subtle ears

Detect the faintest sound

Of all who plot in chambers underground:

Fulfill our hopes, allay our direst fears

Grant us the gift of swift nocturnal stealth;

Reveal to us each hidden jeweled hoard

Of kingly wealth;

And most of all, Dark Lord, 

Possess our foes with terrors thanatopic

And draw their shrieking souls down from the light

Into eternal night

To pine for aye in silence nyctalopic.