Hath his pale kinsman east and north;
And more than one, since life began,
Hath known Christ’s agony for Man.
The gods are brethren. Kin by fate,
In gentleness as well as hate,
’Mid heights that only Thought may climb
They come, they go; they are, or seem;
Each, rainbow’d from the rack of Time,
Casts broken lights across God’s Dream.
R. Buchanan (Balder the Beautiful).