NOTHUNG
*
THE
crowns of Gods and mortals wither ;
Moons fade where constellations shone ;
Numberless aeons brought us hither ;
Numberless aeons beckon us on.
The world is old, and I am strong -
Awake, awake, O Sword of Song !
Here,
in the Dusk of Gods, I linger ;
The world awaits a Word of Truth.
Kindle, O lyre, beneath my finger !
Evoke the age's awfu1 youth !
To arms against the inveterate wrong !
Awake, awake, O Sword of Song !
Sand-founded
reels the House of Faith ;
Up screams the howl of ruining sect ;
Out from the shrine flits the lost Wraith ;
" God hath forsaken His elect ! "
Confusion sweeps upon the throng -
Awake, awake, O Sword of Song !
Awake
to wound, awake to heal
By wounding, thou resistless sword !
Raise the prone priestcrafts that appeal
In
agony to their prostrate Lord !
Raise the duped herd - they have suffered long !
Awake, awake, O Sword of Song !
My
strength this agony of the age
Win through; my music charm the old
Sorrow of years: my warfare wage
By
iron to an age of gold :-
The world is old, and I am strong -
Awake, awake, O Sword of Song !