We are not wiser than the seers of old,
Our Fathers,—they, twelve hundred years
Hewed from its silent place this prophet-stone,
And bade the sacred Yggdrasil uphold
A Balder-Christ, whose triumphs should be told
In pagan picture:—here the battle won
By Horn’s blast,—there the Horse with Death thereon
Cast down for years whose coil is endless rolled.
Preacher of Christ, stone-lipped, but not in vain:
Preacher of woman’s love to help her Lord
By faithful tendance, yea, though earth should quake:
For, lo! her feet upon the bruised snake,
Here Mary stands beside her Son in pain;
There Loki’s queen prevents the poison poured.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 95)