‘The Land of the Four Trees’

When the land was sunk

In heathen darkness,

One holy hermit

Wandered about

On his two bare feet,

Speaking words of truth.

But so tormenting

Was his speech to the souls

Of his hearers

That they laid him flat

And bound him fast,

Each hand and foot,

To four wooden posts,

And flayed the flesh

From off his bones

Till life left his body.

But the holiness of God

That had dwelt within him

Did not depart at his death,

But remained, and overflowed

In such a measure

That the posts that held

The outstretched limbs

Of the martyr

Received life once more

And grew to great height

In the sight of all.

And their being was changed,

As all then shone,

Leaf and branch and bough,

With a light, whether day or night,

Of clear crystal brightness

That showered the land

For many miles around.

And they were now

Continually with flower

And fruit:  The former

Putting forth a fragrance sweeter

Than any had smelled before;

The latter, as soon was known

By the folk, imparted healing

To those who ate thereof.

All who beheld

How this scene of slaughter

Had become so fair and lovely

Were overawed.

The king of that land

Was so struck with wonder

That he straightway

Cast aside and cursed

His heathen gods

And embraced the God

Of the hermit.

All those present

Could do no less,

And ere long the whole land

Was teeming with these

New faithful folk.

That king soon built

A costly shrine

In the midst of the Four Trees

And laid the holy body

Within it himself,

And after a kiss

And many prostrations,

Beseeched his prayers

For his kingdom,

His family,

And for his own self.

From then on did he

And his sons after him

For many generations

Rule the people

From a throne that stood

Before the brightness

Of the Four Trees.

And in all matters,

Small or great or ‘tween,

The priest of God,

Who served at the martyr’s shrine,

Was ever his counsellor.

The king likewise

Never failed to defend

That holy place from any

Who would dare profane it.

And the whole life of that land

Became woven through and round

The shrine of the hermit

And the life-bearing Trees,

To which throngs of pilgrims

Flowed unceasingly.

Yet, after many years had passed,

After many bairn-teams had grown

Accustomed to the blessings

Bestowed on them by God

Through the hermit and his Trees -

Deliverance from enemies,

Abundance of crop and cow,

Birth of ruddy children multiplied -

Their fervor waned,

Their faith-heat cooled,

And indifference

Began to reign.

And no longer

Were men willing to serve

As priests at the shrine

Or at any temple of God.

So when merchants

Came seeking seamen

For their journeys,

A host went away with them.

And one of the Four Trees

Became blighted and died.

And when teachers

Of other faiths and dogmas

Appeared in the land,

No few followed after them.

And one of the Four Trees

Became blighted and died.

And when disciples

Of the old heathen gods

Came out of hiding

And bade the people

Return to the old ways

Of their forebears,

Lo, many did so.

And one of the Four Trees

Became blighted and died.

And when rationalists

Came and said that

All gods are false

But man and his desires,

They too gathered men as spoils.

And the last of the Four Trees

Became blighted and died.

In those days the king

Was old and weary with age.

Long and white was his beard,

And despair weighed down

His hoary head

With a weight far greater

Than his golden,

Jewel-bestudded crown.

And when the light

From the last of the Four Trees

Ceased to shine, he let out

A deep sigh, and drew breath no more.

Then Heaven’s Master,

In sorrow at these acts,

Bade the earth to hide

The martyr’s body in her breast.

And though the sun still rose,

And the moon her monthly cycle kept,

And the stars wheeled across the nighttime sky,

No one understood what deep darkness

Had o’ertaken the land once more.

--

Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!

Anathema to the Union!