The golden tablets filled with runes, lost long ago,
In Time’s fresh morning, then are found amid the grass
On Ida’s plain, by Valhal’s children reconciled. 
The fallen good in death are only tried by fire;
It is atonement made, a birth to higher life,
Which, purified, flies back to him from whom it came,
And plays a guileless child upon its father’s knee. 
Alas! that all the best is found beyond the grave,—­
That gate of green which Gimle opens; vile is all,
Contaminated all that dwells beneath the stars. 
And yet there is atonement found in life itself,—­
A humble prelude to the peace of heaven above. 
’Tis like the broken chords the minstrel strikes upon
The harp, when he with skillful fingers wakes the song;
The tone attuning with a gentle hand, before
With firmer touch he grasps the golden strings,—­
Grand memories of old alluring from their grave,
While Valhal’s splendor streameth on enraptured eyes. 
For earth, indeed, is only heaven’s shadow, life
The grounds in front of Balder’s temple in the sky. 
The people sacrifice unto the gods; the steed
Bedecked with gold and purple is an offering made. 
A token this with meaning most profound,—­for blood
Tints red the morning light of each atonement day. 
But signs are not the substitute, they can not atone,
Thine own transgressions no one can amend for thee. 
In Odin’s breast divine the dead are reconciled;
Atonement for the living lies in their own hearts. 
One offering, I know, unto the gods more dear
Than smoke of victims.  ’Tis the sacrifice of thine
Own vengeance, and thy heart’s untamed and bitter hate. 
Canst thou not silence them, and canst thou not forgive,
O youth?  What wilt thou then in Balder’s sacred house? 
With what intent hast thou this holy temple reared? 
With stones is Balder not appeased.  Atonement dwells
Below, as up above, alone where dwelleth peace. 
With all thy foes and with thyself be reconciled. 
The light-haired god will then be reconciled with thee. 
They have a Balder in the south—­the virgin’s son,
Who by the Allfather wise was sent to explain the runes
Upon the norns’ black shield rand,—­unexplained before. 
His battle-cry was peace, his conquering sword was love;
And blameless sat the dove upon his silver helm. 
He holy lived and taught, he died and he forgave,—­
And under distant palms his grave in sunlight lies. 
From dale to dale his followers wander, it is said. 
And melting hardened hearts, and laying hand in hand
Establish peace upon the reconciled earth. 
I do not know the doctrine well, but dimly have I
In my better moments guessed what it may mean,—­
And every human heart at times divines as well. 
I know the time will come when it will lightly wave
Its white dove-pinions over all our northern hills;
But that day come, the North will be no more to us;