These hate the old gods,
  Warring against them;
  Fatal to Odin,
  Here the wolf Fenrir
  Lieth in wait.

  Here the gods’ Twilight
  Gathers, earth-gulfing;
  Blackness of battle,
  Fierce till the Old World
  Flare up in fire. 210

  Doubt not, my Northmen;
  Fate loves the fearless;
  Fools, when their roof-tree
  Falls, think it doomsday;
  Firm stands the sky.

  Over the ruin
  See I the promise;
  Crisp waves the cornfield,
  Peace-walled, the homestead
  Waits open-doored. 220

  There lies the New Land;
  Yours to behold it,
  Not to possess it;
  Slowly Fate’s perfect
  Fulness shall come.

  Then from your strong loins
  Seed shall be scattered,
  Men to the marrow,
  Wilderness tamers,
  Walkers of waves. 230

  Jealous, the old gods
  Shut it in shadow,
  Wisely they ward it,
  Egg of the serpent,
  Bane to them all.

  Stronger and sweeter
  New gods shall seek it. 
  Fill it with man-folk
  Wise for the future,
  Wise from the past. 240

  Here all is all men’s,
  Save only Wisdom;
  King he that wins her;
  Him hail they helmsman,
  Highest of heart.

  Might makes no master
  Here any longer;
  Sword is not swayer;
  Here e’en the gods are
  Selfish no more. 250

  Walking the New Earth,
  Lo, a divine One
  Greets all men godlike,
  Calls them his kindred,
  He, the Divine.

  Is it Thor’s hammer
  Rays in his right hand? 
  Weaponless walks he;
  It is the White Christ,
  Stronger than Thor. 260

  Here shall a realm rise
  Mighty in manhood;
  Justice and Mercy
  Here set a stronghold
  Safe without spear.

  Weak was the Old World,
  Wearily war-fenced;
  Out of its ashes,
  Strong as the morning,
  Springeth the New. 270

  Beauty of promise,
  Promise of beauty,
  Safe in the silence
  Sleep thou, till cometh
  Light to thy lids!

  Thee shall awaken
  Flame from the furnace,
  Bath of all brave ones,
  Cleanser of conscience,
  Welder of will. 280

  Lowly shall love thee,
  Thee, open-handed! 
  Stalwart shall shield thee,
  Thee, worth their best blood,
  Waif of the West!

  Then shall come singers,
  Singing no swan-song,
  Birth-carols, rather,
  Meet for the mail child
  Mighty of bone. 290

MAHMOOD THE IMAGE-BREAKER

Old events have modern meanings; only that survives
Of past history which finds kindred in all hearts and lives.