And Time Rolls On . . .
                    Savitri Devi
 
And time rolls on.
And every empty day that slowly fades away,
as uneventful as any other one,
into the mist of unrecorded history,
brings us along our strenuous way,
nearer the heart's desire of the revengeful,
nearer the doom of those whom we resist,
nearer the unfailing end of this atrocious night,
nearer the yet well-hidden goal for which we fight,
the one undying dream for which we live,
while we never forget, never forgive.
 
And time rolls on.
And every dreary hour that passes by into eternity
glaringly shows the soundness of our claim,
and tells the world the inanity of thy enemy's victory,
while bringing thy dismembered nation
new strength and new prosperity, new hopes of unity,
with the increasing certainty of our return to power,
and both our persecutors' further fears of unavoidable annihilation.
And thus we march invincibly towards our lofty end
along the way of blood and tears.
It matters not how much we gave.
It matters not how much we shall yet give,
to see all those who hated thee descend into their graves
after they groan under our whip for years and years.
For we never forget, never forgive.
 
And time rolls on.
And every fleeting second brings us
further away from the long nightmare of defeat,
nearer the glory of our dawning day,
nearer the time we shall begin again,
nearer the morn of thy unending reign,
when thy adoring people shall repeat,
in frenzied spell-like cheers,
the now forbidden words of faith and pride.
And when, for countless scores of years,
the nations of the west that have refused to side
with thee and fight the common foe and live,
will lie in ruins at out feet,
while we never forget, never forgive.
 
And time rolls on.
With us, they did not reckon
when setting forth their vast utopian schemes.
They thought thee dead, and us also.
They thought our faith had slackened.
They thought, the fools, that they could rely
upon our loyalties to values which we hate.
They thought they could send us to die
without us ever asking why,
when we had grown too weary to say no.
They though they had become the masters of our fate.
And here we rise and here we stand,
and give the world to understand,
that we shall never fight but for our same old dream.
For honor and for might, and what we know is right.
For the joy of asserting the privileges of our birth.
For thee, for greater Germany, for Aryan rule upon this earth.
The gospel of perennial truth in its new form
which we came to proclaim, and which is more, to live,
while we never forget, never forgive.
 
And time rolls on.
Nothing can break our spirits, nor alter our allegiance to thee
and to the German Reich, home of the best,
stronghold and hope of Aryan mankind in the West.
Of all thy enemies can say or do
to gain our favor that they so require,
nothing can shake our faith.
Nothing can ever mar our loyalty to the old oath.
Nothing can kill our will to rise again.
Every new step the former great allies take towards us,
we meet with a new grievance.
No threats can force us to believe their lies.
No bribery can keep our hearts from hating both.
Happier as the storm draws nigh,
we wait and watch events go by.
We wait and watch the signs of war.
The hopes of liberation,
the coming chances of thy nation
to seize the lead of sunset lands once more.
And we are confident in our own strength
and we are grateful to the immortal gods who made us free.
Serene, even in hell, and loving only thee.
Having nothing to lose and all to give.
Faithful when all become unfaithful,
while we never forget, never forgive.
 
Athens, March 26th, 1953  

"This poem was transcribed from a taped reading by Savitri Devi. The tape was recorded on May 8, 1978 in New Dehli. In another tape, recorded a day or two earlier, she talks about the composition of  the poem: "[I]n ’53 it was, yes in ’53, before I went back to Germany. I stayed for some time in Greece, and it was the birthday of a Kamerad that I had met in Werl, a so-called war criminal, Hertha Ehlert. Living in Bad Homburg now if she’s alive. She’s my age, six months older. She was born on the 26th of March, 1905. It was the 26th of March, and I was in Athens. I was free. She, poor thing, was in Werl still. She only came out later. And I went into a place where you get yogurt and you can eat cakes and things like that. I had something to eat there. And it came to me. I thought of Hertha. I thought of her. I thought of her. And it came to me to write this poem."


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