Fates of Men
Oft it befalls by the grace of God
That into this world woman and man
Bring child to birth. They dress it in colors,
Love it and train it till time shall come
When its limbs are sturdy and strong with life.
Father and mother carry and lead it,
Feed it and clothe it but God alone knows
What the years may give for the growing child!
To one it happens in the years of his youth
A woeful ending carries him off.
A wolf shall devour him, hoary heath-stepper,
And his mother shall mourn his going hence.
Little is this the lot of a man!
One hunger shall waste, one storm shall harry
One spear shall slay, one battle destroy.
One lives his life without light of eye,
Only hands for feeling. One feeble of foot,
Sick of sinew, shall moan his pain,
Afflicted in spirit and mourning his fate.
One in the forest from lofty tree
Wingless shall fall; he shall be in flight
Swinging in air till no longer he hangs
As fruit from the bough. He shall fall to earth,
Of soul bereft at the root of the tree.
His life is ended. Over far ways
One shall travel, finding his food,
Facing the perils of foreign soil,
Having few friends to offer him welcome,
Everywhere hated, unhappy at heart,
Everywhere finding misfortune and woe.
One shall swing on the stretching gallows
Dangling in death till the body breaks,
The bloody frame, and the black-coated raven
Picks at the eyeballs, plucks at the corpse.
Against the outrage his hands are helpless;
They may not defend from the winged foe.
Life is vanished, all feeling fled.
Stark and pallid he swings on the gallows,
Shrouded in death-mist, enduring his fate.
His name is accursed. In the funeral-fire
Flame shall afflict, red brands consume
One doomed and fated; his death shall be swift.
The woman shall weep as she sees the blaze,
The enveloping flame, devour her son.
From one on the mead-bench, a wine-sated man
A quarrelsome drunkard, the sharp-edged sword
Shall wrest away life; his words were too rash!
One at the beer-feast by cupbearer's hand
Grown foolish with mead, not curbing his mouth,
Shall lose his life in a wretched brawl,
Shorn of pleasure, suffering woe;
And men who describe the drunkard's debauch,
All shall call him a self-slain man.
But some shall in youth by the grace of God
Master misfortune, in later years
Have joyous heart and days of gladness,
Feasting with loved ones, possessing wealth
And all such treasure as man may hold.
So in diverse ways God deals His gifts
Unto every man through all the earth:
He decides, and settles, and makes decree,
Giving weal to one, woe to another. . . .
In wondrous wise the Warden of hosts
Throughout the world awards man's fate,
Deciding fortune for all on earth.
Therefore, let every man give Him Thanksgiving
For all that His mercy may allot for men.
That into this world woman and man
Bring child to birth. They dress it in colors,
Love it and train it till time shall come
When its limbs are sturdy and strong with life.
Father and mother carry and lead it,
Feed it and clothe it but God alone knows
What the years may give for the growing child!
To one it happens in the years of his youth
A woeful ending carries him off.
A wolf shall devour him, hoary heath-stepper,
And his mother shall mourn his going hence.
Little is this the lot of a man!
One hunger shall waste, one storm shall harry
One spear shall slay, one battle destroy.
One lives his life without light of eye,
Only hands for feeling. One feeble of foot,
Sick of sinew, shall moan his pain,
Afflicted in spirit and mourning his fate.
One in the forest from lofty tree
Wingless shall fall; he shall be in flight
Swinging in air till no longer he hangs
As fruit from the bough. He shall fall to earth,
Of soul bereft at the root of the tree.
His life is ended. Over far ways
One shall travel, finding his food,
Facing the perils of foreign soil,
Having few friends to offer him welcome,
Everywhere hated, unhappy at heart,
Everywhere finding misfortune and woe.
One shall swing on the stretching gallows
Dangling in death till the body breaks,
The bloody frame, and the black-coated raven
Picks at the eyeballs, plucks at the corpse.
Against the outrage his hands are helpless;
They may not defend from the winged foe.
Life is vanished, all feeling fled.
Stark and pallid he swings on the gallows,
Shrouded in death-mist, enduring his fate.
His name is accursed. In the funeral-fire
Flame shall afflict, red brands consume
One doomed and fated; his death shall be swift.
The woman shall weep as she sees the blaze,
The enveloping flame, devour her son.
From one on the mead-bench, a wine-sated man
A quarrelsome drunkard, the sharp-edged sword
Shall wrest away life; his words were too rash!
One at the beer-feast by cupbearer's hand
Grown foolish with mead, not curbing his mouth,
Shall lose his life in a wretched brawl,
Shorn of pleasure, suffering woe;
And men who describe the drunkard's debauch,
All shall call him a self-slain man.
But some shall in youth by the grace of God
Master misfortune, in later years
Have joyous heart and days of gladness,
Feasting with loved ones, possessing wealth
And all such treasure as man may hold.
So in diverse ways God deals His gifts
Unto every man through all the earth:
He decides, and settles, and makes decree,
Giving weal to one, woe to another. . . .
In wondrous wise the Warden of hosts
Throughout the world awards man's fate,
Deciding fortune for all on earth.
Therefore, let every man give Him Thanksgiving
For all that His mercy may allot for men.
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