BETWEEN THE AGES
GONE is the spirit of old
With the thirst for the strife;
Gone is the fierce and the bold
From the midst of our life;
Gone is the spirit of old.
Hushed is our wild battle-cry,
Feared anear and afar;
Never the forests reply
To loud pipings of war;
Hungered the dun eagles fly.
Where are the gods that were ours,
Iron Odin, and Thor?
Fled this soft region of flowers
That their souls must abhor?
Where are the gods that were ours?
Vainly I murmur and moan
For their dances and feasts.
Seated upon their high throne
Are the Babe and his priests,
Claiming the world as their own.
62
Psalms from the penitent cells
Fill the indolent day;
Tolling of numberless bells
Calls for ever to pray.
Rudely my spirit rebels!
O for the pipe and the sword.
And the banners of fight!
Weary their chants and their Word
That I know not aright!
Thor, give me Thor for my lord!
Better to strive in the field
Ere all war-pealings cease;
Better to die than to yield
To a Child-king of Peace,
Better to die in the field!
NIMMO CHRISTIE.
MLA citation:
Christie, Nimmo. “Between the Ages.” The Evergreen; A Northern Seasonal, vol. 4, Winter 1896-7, pp. 61-62. Evergreen Digital Edition, edited by Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2016-2018. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/egv4_christie_ages/