The congregation clambers to its feet
At the first slow stirrings of song.
Numbered notes spill from stringed voices
Stirring simultaneous nostalgia and anticipation.
Drums and hearts beat, bonded,
As the worshipers wake to their surroundings.
The leader lifts his arms, sensing the spirit
And the audience accedes, hands raised to a familiar God.
Evoking empathy and ecstasy,
A flame is fanned in every follower
And the crowd cries in one accord:
“Hold the Heathen Hammer High!“