The cold winter rain echoes through the darkness
As it falls steadily, melancholically,
Through the trees and upon the roof and the fields.
Within his simple wooden home, a man rests before the fire
Burning within the hearth, warming his earthen body,
Feeding upon griddle cakes and memories of his forefolk.
The winds then begin to swirl, the clouds descend
And violently scatter the matter in their path.
The man, now sitting soaked upon the soil,
Muses like Job, “The Lord Who gave, has taken away.”
He falls asleep, he dies, his body returns to the earth.
The soul ascends to God, Who is spirit like herself;
To God, Who was crucified and rose to life again –
Who at the end of time will reunite the soul
With a body glorified and imperishable, like His own.
The new man will live upon a new earth.
No one there will fear the Fire, which, divine, does no harm,
. . .
The rest is at https://www.newenglishreview.org/articles/elements/.
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Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!
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