So perish the old Gods! 
But out of the sea of Time
Rises a new land of song,
Fairer than the old. 
Over its meadows green
Walk the young bards and sing.

Build it again,
O ye bards,
Fairer than before! 
Ye fathers of the new race,
Feed upon morning dew,
Sing the new Song of Love!

The law of force is dead! 
The law of love prevails! 
Thor, the thunderer,
Shall rule the earth no more,
No more, with threats,
Challenge the meek Christ.

Sing no more,
O ye bards of the North,
Of Vikings and of Jarls! 
Of the days of Eld
Preserve the freedom only,
Not the deeds of blood!

SONNET

ON MRS. KEMBLE’S READINGS FROM SHAKESPEARE

O precious evenings! all too swiftly sped! 
  Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages
  Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
  And giving tongues unto the silent dead! 
How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read,
  Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages
  Of the great poet who foreruns the ages,
  Anticipating all that shall be said! 
O happy Reader! having for thy text
  The magic book, whose Sibylline leaves have caught
  The rarest essence of all human thought! 
O happy Poet! by no critic vext! 
  How must thy listening spirit now rejoice
  To be interpreted by such a voice!

THE SINGERS

God sent his Singers upon earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart,

But the great Master said, “I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

“These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony.”

SUSPIRIA

Take them, O Death! and bear away
  Whatever thou canst call thine own! 
Thine image, stamped upon this clay,
  Doth give thee that, but that alone!

Take them, O Grave! and let them lie
  Folded upon thy narrow shelves,
As garments by the soul laid by,
  And precious only to ourselves!