The Soul's Complaint Against The Body

from The Anglo-saxon

Much it behoveth Each one of mortals, That he his soul's journey In himself ponder, How deep it may be. When Death cometh, The bonds he breaketh By which were united The soul and the body. Long it is thenceforth Ere the soul taketh From God himself Its woe or its weal; As in the world erst, Even in its earth-vessel, It wrought before. The soul shall come Wailing with loud voice, After a sennight, The soul, to find The body That it erst dwelt in;-- Three hundred winters, Unless ere that worketh The Eternal Lord, The Almighty God, The end of the world. Crieth then, so care-worn, With cold utterance, And speaketh grimly, The ghost to the dust: "Dry dust! thou dreary one! How little didst thou labor for me! In the foulness of earth Thou all wearest away Like to the loam! Little didst thou think How thy soul's journey Would be thereafter, When from the body It should be led forth."