Need fastens                 on the nameless,              
With naught of wealth        or near kin,                  
Nith seizes a landless one,  with none to serve,           
A useless wight,             and woeful for it,            
In hunger and shame,         hearthless, shivering,        
The one who lacks            longs for warmpth,         
For hard from the north      night winds are howling:      
Like iron bands              on the breast drawn tighter,  
The harsh fear of doom,      dread of what bodes,          
Pricks the heart             of the harried one,          
Waylaid by Wyrd              in a wicked pass.            
Of help in need              one is never bereft
If Allfather's bond          they acknowledge in time,    
Asking for better            and acting in kind,          
Taking up firebow            ere frost freezes life,      
Strongly spinning,           till singeing, the twig      
Flares up flame,             feeds on tinder,             
Blossoms hotly,              blazing to ward;             
A boon to the flesh,         bright to the eye,           
Of a farer through darkness  in doubt of dawn.           
When hope is hidden,         and the heart is cold,       
In neediness, find mood,     in nether lands strength;  
Self by self freed           though sparked by One        
Who only draws knots         around the necks of Heroes.