Woden,
Woden, hear me.
God of battles, furious.
Beyond the light of holy rood cast, we remember you.
Over the whale road you led us here.
Blessed our fathers with this sod to gain.
I stand before you, a lesser man than my ancestors.
Not for me the sword arm, bloodied in foreign lands.
I have been house-bound, to fair wife and sweet earth.
Children we have grown and crops we have sown.
Nurtured land and home.
Now behind linden shield I stand, with ashen spear in my hand.
With others called from farm and cot.
Oaths and duty not forgot.
May you watch over us, from the high world ash. Your ravens caw.
Flesh will be yielded to beak and claw.
They come, a bastard’s army of despoilers under papal flag.
To rob, kill and burn.
Beneath his banners unfurled, our king he calls.
“Ut! Ut! Ut!” we take up the chant.
Woden.
Woden, forget us not.
Know that we stood against the storm of arrows, sword and lance.
Let children remember.
If death and defeat steals all. A foreign boot strides our halls.
We stood here, huscarl, thegn and ceorl.
If I am denied Christ’s heaven or your famed benches of gold.
May my ghost remain, a curse. A fierce wind blowing cold.
Across this ridge until sea swallows earth.
Woden.
Woden, hear me.
Lord of battles, lend me your frenzy.
That I may stand with my fathers, that they may find me worthy.
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