We worship the sun-child with dances of fire,
The purposive death to the perilous night.
The golden ascent and the chance to inspire
The old gods to relish in violent delight.
We bow to the cry, ‘til the motions expire:
And blood in the sky is a merciful sight,
Facing the sun-death with dances of fire
And tracing the touch of the westering light.
We may no longer all worship pagan deities. But we are sun-worshippers.