The song of the ancient people . l Root, for the RealmBelow,Deep-hid in the canons drear ; —Frame that the Beings Beloved maycomeAnd their forms and thoughts re-veal;For naught, from the heart throughvigils pure,Will the Mighty Ones richest robes and brightest hues For the watching sky we wear,With necklace-beads and eagle-plumes Above our flowing hair,And yellow pollen over us blown,10 W$t Ancient people Good-will from the Gods to bear;And with symbols of the lightning, The winds, the clouds, the rain, —Crosses, terraces, slanting bars, —We deck our blankets and our jars Their fav
The song of the ancient people . l Root, for the RealmBelow,Deep-hid in the canons drear ; —Frame that the Beings Beloved maycomeAnd their forms and thoughts re-veal;For naught, from the heart throughvigils pure,Will the Mighty Ones richest robes and brightest hues For the watching sky we wear,With necklace-beads and eagle-plumes Above our flowing hair,And yellow pollen over us blown,10 W$t Ancient people Good-will from the Gods to bear;And with symbols of the lightning, The winds, the clouds, the rain, —Crosses, terraces, slanting bars, —We deck our blankets and our jars Their favor to constrain ;And we weave for priest and priestess The sash and mantle white,Broidered with many a magic thread To give these Gods delight,And save our cherished homes fromharm And our fields from flood tales we tell by the evening flame Of how the Earth was made,And the tribes came up from theUnder-world To people plain and glade, —Tales that will echo round our hearths Till the last glow shall fade;ii. Wfyt &ntitnt people And of the two immortal youths, Twin children of the Sun,Who eastward led their faltering bandsTo find where morn begun, — To gain the stable, midmost lands,And the trembling borders shun;And of Pd-shai-an-kya, the master, Whose help we never lose,Who bade us turn from hate and guile And ever the noblest choose,And said that whoso smites a man His own heart doth Earth and the Gods he taught us,— How slope and plain to till,And the streams that fall from themountain snows To turn and store at will;And how to trace the glorious Sun North and south to his goal;And straight, when the bodys life isdone, 12 W$z #ncintt |Deopte Set free the prisoned soul!His voice was sweet as the summerwind,But his robe was poor and old,And, scorned of men, he journeyedfarTo the city the mists enfold, —Far to the land where his treasuredloreAnd secret rites were told;And there with a chosen few he dwelt And made their darkness day,Till lo!
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Keywords: ., bookauthorfiskejoh, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1893
