The Wanderer

	Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago?	Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?
	Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?	Where the giver of treasure?
	Hwær cwom symbla gesetu?	Where are the seats at the feast?
	Hwær sindon seledreamas?	Where are the revels in the hall?
	Eala beorht bune!	Alas for the bright cup!
	Eala byrnwiga!	Alas for the mailed warrior!
	Eala þeodnes þrym!	Alas for the splendour of the prince!
	Hu seo þrag gewat,	How that time has passed away,
	genap under nihthelm,	dark under the cover of night,
	swa heo no wære.	as if it had never been!
	Stondeð nu on laste	Now there stands in the trace
	leofre duguþe	of the beloved troop
	weal wundrum heah,	a wall, wondrously high,
	wyrmlicum fah.	wound round with serpents.
	Eorlas fornoman	The warriors taken off
	asca þryþe,	by the glory of spears,
	wæpen wælgifru,	the weapons greedy for slaughter,
	wyrd seo mære,	the famous fate (turn of events),
	ond þas stanhleoþu	and storms beat
	stormas cnyssað,	these rocky cliffs,
	hrið hreosende	falling frost
	hrusan bindeð,	fetters the earth,
	wintres woma,	the harbinger of winter;
	þonne won cymeð,	Then dark comes,
	nipeð nihtscua,	nightshadows deepen,
	norþan onsendeð	from the north there comes
	hreo hæglfare	a rough hailstorm
	hæleþum on andan.	in malice against men.
	Eall is earfoðlic	All is troublesome
	eorþan rice,	in this earthly kingdom,
	onwendeð wyrda gesceaft	the turn of events changes
	weoruld under heofonum.	the world under the heavens.
	Her bið feoh læne,	Here money is fleeting,
	her bið freond læne,	here friend is fleeting,
	her bið mon læne,	here man is fleeting,
	her bið mæg læne,	here kinsman is fleeting,
	eal þis eorþan gesteal	all the foundation of this world
	idel weorþeð!	turns to waste!

Saint George and the Dragon

"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."--G. K. Chesterton 

Pardon me for being late with this post, the feast of St.  George was April 23rd, but it is that point in the semester.  

A few years ago Saint George and a few other saints (including Saint Christopher) were taken off the off the official church calendar because of a lack of historical evidence for their existence, probably prompted by the more fantastic elements in their vitas.  

George's actual life has always been shrouded in mystery.  Pope Gelasius stated that George was among those saints "whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose actions are known only to God."  Yet legends about the soldier saint who refused to give up his faith in the face of Diocletian's persecutions and who slayed dragons abounded during the Middle Ages, particularly during the Crusades.  

Which brings me to the Chesterton quote.  While I am inclined to believe that George existed that is not the most important thing to be gained from his life.  What is important, what is more than true, is George's witness.  He is a protector of Christendom, both in his slaying of the dragon and in his giving his life for his faith.  Whether factual or not, George's life remains a witness to Christ and an example to us all--and that makes him worthy of the title saint.  

The Modern World

When we look at modern man we have to face the fact that modern man suffers from a kind of poverty of the spirit, which stands in glaring contrast to his scientific and technological abundance, we've learned to fly the air like birds, we've learned to swim the seas like fish, and yet we haven’t learned to walk the earth as brothers and sisters.  
--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Song

I am sorry I have been so lax about posting for national poetry month.  Here is something from (in my opinion) one of the greatest living poets:

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes. 

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

The first step

Nothing happens... but first a dream.-- Carl Sandburg

Wandering

from "Wandering" by Hermann Hesse, translated by James Wright

Unfettered

What's money? A person is a success if they get up in the morning and gets to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan

Who am I to follow?

I don't want to need to be the best. Yet I can not stand when someone is better than me. Constantly, I find myself doing everything I can to prove my dominance over others. Why? Why can I not be pleased in others sucsesses as well as my own? It is because of my Pride.
Damn your Pride William. My Pride is the only thing they can not take from me! They can and they will. Lord, help me fight it, give me the strength to rise above it. I'm as proud as ever! Pride is not the opposite of Shame, it is the source. True Humility is the only antidote to shame.

Prayer

As You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.
All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge 
And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,
Above landscapes the color of ripe gold
Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.
That bridge leads to the shore of Reversal
Where everything is just the opposite and the word 'is'
Unveils a meaning we hardly envisioned.
Notice: I say we; there, every one, separately,
Feels compassion for others entangled in the flesh
And knows that if there is no other shore
We will walk that aerial bridge all the same.
--Czeslaw Milosz

Done the impossible

"The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." - Walter Bagehot

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

                                                                                       --Gerard Manley Hopkins