Classic Poem

Wednesday was the day when the Lord was betrayed; from it derive the veins of evil; it was not right that there should be good weather but ice-spikes and rain on the day that the king of the world was betrayed. On Thursday when the son of the Lord gave his commandment before the treachery, God himself washed a renowned, slender loin in preparation for his own crucifixion. White and soft was the palm with which he stroked the leper's sore, itself like a blood-red pool; the hair with which he wiped the feet of the wretched poor with their naked bodies was curly and brown. On Friday — the time of the crucifixion — the world ceased from its cohesion; the earth beneath him trembled as he was hanged; the world was shaking everybody. On Saturday he was in the womb of the earth; the sun did not raise her stately face; when the son of Mary arose, a cloak of haze gave heat around the sun. Sunday morning was the Lord's Easter when he had harrowed hell with his blood still warm; similar was the death of the Lord of the universe to a tree that sheds its leaves. At prime he rose from hell — it was no effort to him and he did not hurry; God was for a season throughout the cavernous earth, until he brought from below a dignified muster of men. On Ascension Thursday the prophet took his seat on the right hand of the Creator in the world that has no end, to which the universal king of all has gone. He will come to judge his kinsmen, he will accuse us — no pleasant time — the son of God will not close his wounds till he demand his blood-price from us. God came in human shape to sell himself to redeem us — no puzzle to me; he shed — men are blind — the blood of his lovely body on our behalf. On our behalf the Lord suffered a reddened lance which pierced his side, a point which went through his palm into the blood-red plank and a spike which pierced the middle of his noble, slender foot. The Lord went to endure being maimed on behalf of all men; no-one of you would go to suffer point nor spear on behalf of his father. The king brought his cross from hell — to the men of the world it was no milkless cow — a man should not swear by stone crosses in view of the cross of Christ. O smooth, red mouth of the son of our sister, noble the breast whose first milk you drank; you ought not be angry with mankind — you drank of the breast of Mary in the beginning. I am afraid since I am without resources, of the reproach of God at the gathering of the dead; the ocean's swift, terrifying, rough wave is not violent against the man with the worthless ship. How can I ask for further wealth? Few rich men go to heaven; were a man to get wealth of possessions, they could only harm his soul. Were I wise, it would not be right for me to speak of what I do not possess; I am like a bird upon a bird-lime, since the mouth of the pit of hell is before me. This is the way it is with me though I be full of sport: (great is the pitfall of the present world) death is in store for me, my bier is at my side, the onset of death awaits me and I do not hear it. When my soul leaves me a dark-red troop will come for me; may the son of Mary come to defend me when the eight capital sins are urged against me. O wretched man that are in folly, you almost cause your own newly-dug grave to be opened; there is in full growth by your feet a hedge in which are wont to be thorns or spikes. O man, do not complain of the nap of your clothes or their thickness; it may happen though you find your shirt full of holes and your cloak threadbare, that you will perish first. As Comhdhan enjoined, whoever the poor man be, do not deny his alms; if he comes to ask you, though he be poor and a stranger, " give something to the ill-clad, wretched man". O man who escaped secretly to meet a woman with soft hair, your solitary trysting with a woman in the wood will be screamed aloud on the day that all are gathered together. Kissing women before they are married is a great sin to every young man; a ship is filled with their trout-net — a serious matter among our sins are our kisses. In this way would the dwelling common to all be an improvement: there would be equality for all together; there would be equality, when they have entered the hostel, for the poor woman and the noblest of heroes. Terrible for us is the way we behave, a cause of shame that will soon make us repent: yelping dogs get their fragments yet lepers get no welcome from us. First let the jester have his portion, let the stewards of relics have their share; it is difficult to dole out his portion to the poor man — there should be shortage in the storehouse because of him. To be niggardly with a guest is a great impropriety — woe to him who does not understand — it is not right to be mean with visiting companies: the Lord shares his portion with them. To praise people, O men of poetry, is to forget Jesus — danger enough — to whomever a man gives his poetry of thanks, he gets his reward from God. Though you find the sun's rays weak, there is no craftsman who could make them; what wright could fashion a bramblethorn, even though it be the worst thorn in existence? The rivers of the world do not remain; we do not understand whither they go; all the rivers that leave us and flow into the green sea do not increase it. O men of this world, a remarkable wright shaped Maria, the woman by whom he was born; he makes for you brambles and thorn-bushes — they are pleasant feats of craftsmanship. The king's son whom the Virgin bore, brings forth the salmon from the young fish and fruit from the flower; though ordinary happenings they deserve great praise. There is praise in the wind to his gentle face, praise in the psaltery and in the wave, praise in the harp for the Creator and in the sound of the polished, stout trumpet. To begin with he made a man of clay; he makes a person into earth again; the King who created everything makes blackness and whiteness both. The High King is not asked for a request that his ear does not hear; put your love, O Lord, into my heart from the chess-board of heaven on high. He enumerates for our salvation a man's steps when he goes to mass — a sorry practice; he will try us as each man has deserved; even a drink will be held against us. We must understand his bright creations — what craftsman could fashion them? Calf or foot or fair body, no wright but God could make them. May the stream in which the Lord of the world was baptized — no barren visitation — reach far enough for my flesh and blood to bathe in the river that John poured over the body of Christ. As I go to my bed I pray the son of God for the cure of my affliction which he possesses; may I not be fruitless upon the earth; give me forgiveness in my time. Bridget, the gentle princess, is a midwife from the land of the Irish for the birth; Bridget is the foster-mother of the offspring; everyone asks for her help. The women of the world are related to Mary — it is all the more grievous to violate them; if I incite women, let me not boast; there is an abbot after the spark of lust.