These highest words hold truth indeed–
they do not waver from wisdom’s path:
The boughs reach above, the roots run below–
yet one and the same is the seed of the tree,
one the wood that binds the worlds.
From fire and ice Ymir grew forth,
from Ymir’s flesh all things were shaped
when Buri’s kin brought forth the worlds.

From fire and ice Ymir grew forth–
Muspell’s sparks melted the frost.
The High One’s brothers shaped his body,
marked out Midgard as man’s first home.

Hard the tree that holds the fire,
keeper and quickener of every kindred–
the tree holds that Rune wrought before all,
the Spell first spoken, that sped the worlds.

Strong is the tree, for it stands in the earth–
the ground below gives roots their might.

With skill the smith skims off the slag,
with wisdom crafts the well-made sword
that cleaves away the weak and worthless.

The rainbow rises from ripened fields–
sun-fire woven through waters above.
Over that bridge the bold one rides,
bringing the harvest that home fields gave;
from Asgard he fetches the fiery gold.
Homeward he rides, holding within him
the fire that thwarts the thurses’ cold.

These are staves stronger than all:
like Sunna’s shield that shines through the clouds,
blazes through ice and breaks its hold.

This is the way that worlds were made.

Thus also the wise bring wonders forth.

Now you shall know what names are mine:
I am the High One, the Highest and Third:
I am the Galdor-God who hung
between the worlds to win the runes;
Odin, Allfather, eldest of gods.

Now the spell is spoken through–
the High One’s song in the hall has ended.

A modern holy text by Ingeborg Nordén and Volmarr Wyrd