A SONG OF THE NEW GODS

The gods of vast Valhalla

Are silent in their hall;

Zeus looks not from Olympus;

Jehovah's rod has fallen

And Buddha sleeps among his Poppies:

The old gods, the great gods,

Thunder and nod no more!

Yea, though we fiction them,

Pretending that their stone eyes stare —

That their ears of marble harken,

We know that all the gods of yesterday are dead!

Weep not for Apollo;

Sigh not for Cynthia;

Call not for Aphrodite

Coming from the foam;

Beat not the breast for Balder —

Balder the Beautiful,

Slain by dark Loki:

These were but dreams in the night

Of the day that is ours.

Sing for the day that is ours —

For the gods who are here,

Titans whose strength is greater

Than snake-strangling Hercules!

Sing for the gods of the oppressed,

The cleansers of slums,

The Christs of great Golgothas

Mounded of old wrongs

Hurting the people!

Sing for the smiters of tenements —

Lairs of disease, of the white death!

Sing for the slayers of sweat-shop owners —

The taskmasters of children!

Sing for the guardians of girls,

The saviours of modern Madonnas —

Custodians of wells unpolluted

For the renewal of men!

Sing for the wielders of axe and the hammer;

The gods of the crowbar and shovel;

For those who go down to the sea in ships,

Having their business in the great waters;

For those who find out a path

Which no fowl knoweth,

Which the lion's whelps tread not —

The veins of the silver and gold,

Of the carbonized sunlight and laughter!

Sing for the prophets of labour,

Rebukers of Ahab greedy of gardens

Delved and possessed by another!

Sing for the women who claim the lost title:

“Comrade and equal of Man,”

Women who strike from their sisters

AEonian fetters of custom,

Bidding them stand and be free from their masters!

Sing for the priests of the Lord's House,

Who lift up the vessels thereof with clean hands,

Knowing great Christ when He cometh,

Truthful interpreters of signs and of omens!

Sing for the harpers on highways

Who make the world dance to their song,

Turning the laughter of leaves into words!

Brother, this the world wonderful

Transcends Valhalla.

Everywhere falls the ambrosial

Smell of the garlands immortal;

Everywhere tones of an infinite

Iris-bow, bent for achievement,

Pass the promise of Noah —

Ours not promise, ours fulfilment!

This is the day of the ages,

Heaven is here for the claiming —

Now! Now! Rise up and take it.

“I said ye are gods” —?

I say you are gods —

Yea, you are more than God's Image,

You are God's Self! worship none other.

Have done with your idols,

The old gods, the dead gods!

Blow up the trumpets —

Beat on the cymbals —

Strike on the harpstrings —

Let sound the psalteries —

Thunder the tabour!

Shout with the Levites,

White-robed and ready,

Round the old world-walls!

Shatter with sound

Jericho! Jericho!

Topple its bastions,

Bloodstained and brutal,

Down to the dust

Drifting to deserts

Remote and forgotten!

Bring in the New Year,

Brothers, my brothers —

Proclaim this the Sabbath!