The weapons of the Gods decide

Look ye, look ye!
Gaze yonder 'pon
a gathering
of the fair and the strong!
Across oceans and deserts
from mighty cities and hovels
from cliff and surf, they come!
They gather here, the fair and the strong!
They come for glory, they come for vengeance
Called by the horns of war and dreams of peace.
They gather to the burning pyre of dominion
or to cut the chains of tyrants, and see slaves freed.
Who among them is worthy, now speak.
Hold not onto the silence of the past centuries.
All worthy, all mighty, select your vessel
set him free from mortal perils and conduct his deeds.
Have you chosen, mighty Excalibur?
Are any worthy to heft thee, Mjolnir?
Or any of you, weapons of war! Children of Mars!
Do any glimpse any, who may add their names to thee?
Hark! A voice speaks, from beneath dust and rust
From beneath the golden and silver pedestals.
A voice, at last, breaking the silence of years past.
It speaks! Oh glory, it speaks!
Have thee chosen from this lot, o humble one?
Or have the years of indolence robbed ye of wit?
Dost thou speak only to express thine impatience
at the lack of one to wield something wonderous as thee?
Ah, the young man from the Indus.
Clean of limb and heart.
His love and compassion truly set him apart.
A paragon of virtue and a connoisseur of art.
Come forth, mortal! Called you are, to wield power.
Beyond your ken, beyond your strength.
A mighty weapon, your constant companion.
Bear it with the dignity that befits it.
Use it to bring low kingdoms, or raise the ocean floor.
Use it to level forests, or bring closer the sun.
Use it as you must, use it as you will.
For it is a God that now sits in your palm.
And a God it shall make of you, in times to pass.