Ruling all of right and wrong.

His own magic art hath wrought,

In the crystal depths of thought.

Singing all the music of the north.

Wagering all her soul is worth.

In the vine-clad hills of Rhine,

From the great Norwegian Pine.

All the Kings of mighty song,

All the Kings of right and wrong,

To the farthest bounds of art,

Ages can not bind apart.

[Pg 46]

With the Supermen of time,

All of fullness and of prime.

With the Supermen of dreams,

Plashing oars on crystal streams.

Mirrored in the blue clad hills,

Where the spirit drinks and fills.

Wanting not the yester years,

And the ring'd horizon clears.

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