In man’s as in the high gods’ thoughts was peace. 
Whate’er has happened here below has also chanced
In greater measure there; humanity is but
An image frail of heaven; it is as Valhal’s light
Reflected in the shield of Saga writ with runes. 
Its Balder hath each heart.  Remember’st thou the time
When dwelt within thy breast sweet peace a guest, and life
As joyful seemed, as heavenly calm, as song bird’s dream
When summer night-winds to and fro so gently wave
Each fragrant blossom sleeping in its bed of green? 
Then holy Balder still abode in thy pure soul,
Thou asa-son, thou wandering image of high heaven. 
For childhood Balder is not dead, and Hela gives
Again her prey us often as a child is born. 
With Balder also groweth up in every soul
His brother Hoder, blind, the child of night; for blind
At birth is evil always, like the young of bears, and night
Its mantle, but the good of earth rejoice in light. 
The tempter, busy Loke, always ready stands
To guide the blind one’s murderous hand.  The missile oft
To Valhal’s love is sent, to Balder’s tender breast. 
Then Hate awakes and Violence upon its prey
Springs forth; the hungry sword-wolf prowls o’er hill and dale. 
And fiercest dragons wild swim o’er the bloody waves. 
For this meek Piety a powerless shadow sits
One dead among the dead, and with him pallid Hel,
And in its ashes Baldur’s sanctuary lies. 
So too the asa’s life on high prefigures that
Mere human life below, and both are but the thoughts,
The silent thoughts of Odin which can never change. 
What hath been, what shall be, that the song profound
Of Vala knows,—­Time’s lullaby, its drapa too. 
Creation’s annals have a melody the sam. 
And man may hear his own life’s history therein. 
Dost comprehend or not?  ’Tis Vala asketh thee. 
Thou seek’st atonement; know’st thou what atonement is? 
Oh, Fridthjof, look me in the eye and turn not pale! 
Round earth a mediator goes, his name is Death. 
A spark translucent, from eternity, is time: 
All earthly life is but the refuse from Allfather’s throne;
Atonement is to there return all purified. 
The lofty asas fall themselves, and Ragnarok
The day of their atonement is, a bloody day
On Vigrid’s hundred miles of plain; there will they fall,
But fall not unavenged, for there the evil die
Forever, but the fallen good arise again,
Refined, from out the flaming pyre to higher life. 
’Tis true the star-crown, pale and withered, falleth down
From heaven’s temple; earth too, sinks beneath the sea,
But brighter is it born again, and joyous lifts
Its flower crowned head from out the seething waves,—­
And new created stars pursue with god-like glance
Their silent pathway round about the new-born earth. 
But on the green hill-slopes will Balder govern then
The new-born asas, and a human race renewed.