Tongues of Ancients

Tongues of Ancients, still and strong,
   As glints the blade this wintry morn.
Veiled but clear wilt be ere long
   'Pon gails of time the voice is borne.

A whisper, nay more, midst darkness fell
   "Trust in Me" - Beaut bane of Hell.
Here nowt but lofty tongue canst tell
   My soul, I say, doth bear it well,

And ever on 'twill dearly yearn
   For life the mind can scarce discern.
As sure as stone sinks in it's turn
   All past faults I'll gladly spurn.