3. On the Killing at Lindisfarne
Since man went out from the fields of Paradise,
A beggared alien walking beggars lands,
He hath paid with bitter pangs, he and his sons,
His stealth, his broken faith.
For change and chance come on mortality,
And no man lives for ever in one stay...
No time, there is no time for private sorrow:
So vast the evil,
So universal through the whole wide world,
A man’s own grief seems lighter.
Now the dear House of God
Where Peter’s body lies, the Prince-Apostle,
Men say is now laid waste by treacherous hands,
Her precious things their loot...
Christ,
Why dost thou suffer that such things should be,
By what mysterious judgement,
I cannot know.
Some other life sure waits thy folk in heaven,
Where grows kind peace, and no man makes a war...
So take it to heart, my brothers,
This inconsistency of earthly things,
The swirling eddies.
So was and so shall be in this changing world,
And let none think that he is sure of joy.
He lies bedridden now, who coursed with stags
Over the ploughed lands: age was far away.
And this man tugging at his ancient tatters
To hide his shivering legs
Slept under purple once.
The eyes are dim and fogged with length of days,
That counted dancing atoms: the right hand
That swung the sword and brandished the stout spear
Is shaky now, and finds it hard enough
To carry to the mouth a piece of bread.
Clearer than any trumpet call, the voice
That halts and quavers close to your straining ear.
Ah, God,
If days to come must change us, body and soul,
Would it were for the better in desert!
Beloved, let us love the lasting things
Of heaven, than the dying things of earth.
Here time brings change, and nothing canst thou see
But suffers alteration: there abides
One sole unchanging everlasting day.
Alcuin(c.735 - 804)
translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)
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