Hail, glory-tree, ship wood of paradise
Who carried the All-King to his high seat
Life returned to life, soul fled
On cold paths to seek the places behind the stars.
Lo, wrath-ward. Your branches bore the weight
Of judgment. And this noble strain budded forth
A fragrant mercy on whose stems
Hell’s strength broke in cymbals
Of rotted and discordant steel.
Hail, fruit of Eden. Thy roots speak
Of eternal things. From the blooded soil
A fresh and ageless beauty ventures forth,
Unbinding the ancient serpent’s interdict
To mark mankind for endless days
With words of gold and deathlessness.
Gabriel Olearnik studied medieval history at University College London. He is currently an attorney and practices corporate law.