Now is it most like as if on ocean
Across cold water we sail in our keels,
Over the wide sea in our ocean-steeds,
Faring on in our flood-wood. Fearful the stream,
The tumult of waters, whereon we toss
In this feeble world. Fierce are the surges
On the ocean-lanes. Hard was our life
Before we made harbor over the foaming seas.
Then help was vouchsafed when God’s Spirit-Son
Guided us to the harbor of salvation and granted us grace
That we may understand over the ship’s side
Where to moor our sea-steeds, our ocean-stallions,
Fast at anchor. Let us fix our hope
Upon that haven which the Lord of heaven,
In holiness on high, has opened by His Ascension.
Isn’t that bit of ninth century poetry lovely?
It’s from An Anthology of Old English Poetry translated by Charles W. Kennedy.
Used copies begin at $0.60 with $3.49 shipping and handling. Such a deal.