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Daily Advice 11.25.20
Nov. 25th, 2020 11:16 amToday, some selections from an ancient Saxon poem entitled The Wanderer. This poem comes down to us from the Dark Ages. In such times, societies consist of war-chiefs who gather a following of fighting men about them from whom they receive absolute loyalty in exchange for rewards, often given in great feasts. What happens, though, when one's lord is killed, and one's fellow warriors slain, and one finds oneself wandering alone and friendless in the world?
The Wanderer laments:
You may find these lines familiar:
Where have they all gone?
This isn't a dark age-- not yet, not quite yet. But it seems for many of us a darker age than the one into which we were born. For decades those days have been slipping away. Now a time in which one could travel about the country by airplane without being subjected to a ritual disrobing before armed security guards fades, as though it had never been. Soon a time when one could gather with one's family on a holiday or appear in public without a mask may fade in the same way.
What hope is there for us who must endure, here in this world of constant change? The Wanderer tells us:
Nothing in this world is permanent. All is change, all is passing away. Only to eternal things can we look for consolation. The powers of Heaven have seen darker times than these and will see darker times still, and remain unchanging. Only there does permanence exist, and only there can we find solace.
The Wanderer laments:
Often when sorrow and sleep together
Bind the worn lonely warrior
It seems in his heart that he holds and kisses
The lord of the troop and lays on his knee
His head and hands as he had before
In times gone by at the gift-giver’s throne.
When the friendless warrior awakens again
He sees before him the black waves,
Sea birds bathing, feathers spreading,
Frost and snow falling with hail.
The wounds of his heart are heavier,
Sore after his friends. Sorrow is renewed
When the mind ponders the memory of kinsmen;
He greets them with joy; he anxiously grasps
For something to say. They swim away again.
The breasts of ghosts do not bring the living
Much wisdom. Woe is renewed
For him who must send his weary heart
Way out over the prison of waves.
You may find these lines familiar:
Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?
Where is the giver of treasure?
Where the seats at the feasting?
Where are the joys of the hall?
Alas for the bright chalice!
Alas for the mailed warrior!
Alas for the splendor of the chief!
How the time has passed,
has darkened under veil of night,
as if it had never been.
Where is the giver of treasure?
Where the seats at the feasting?
Where are the joys of the hall?
Alas for the bright chalice!
Alas for the mailed warrior!
Alas for the splendor of the chief!
How the time has passed,
has darkened under veil of night,
as if it had never been.
Where have they all gone?
A host of spears hungry for carnage
Destroyed the men, that marvelous fate!
Storms beat these stone cliffs,
A blanket of frost binds the earth,
Winter is moaning! When the mists darken
And night descends, the north delivers
A fury of hail in hatred at men.
All is wretched in the realm of the earth;
The way of fate changes the world under heaven.
What hope is there for us who must endure, here in this world of constant change? The Wanderer tells us:
Good is he who keeps his faith,
and a warrior must never speak
the grief of his heart too quickly,
unless he already knows the remedy --
a hero must act with courage.
It is better for the one that seeks mercy,
consolation from the Father in Heaven,
where, for us, all permanence rests.
and a warrior must never speak
the grief of his heart too quickly,
unless he already knows the remedy --
a hero must act with courage.
It is better for the one that seeks mercy,
consolation from the Father in Heaven,
where, for us, all permanence rests.
Nothing in this world is permanent. All is change, all is passing away. Only to eternal things can we look for consolation. The powers of Heaven have seen darker times than these and will see darker times still, and remain unchanging. Only there does permanence exist, and only there can we find solace.
