Ful oft thaet gegongeth, mid godes meahtum,

Full oft it happens, by God's great might, that man and woman into the world bring a child by birth, and clothe it in brightness, they tend and treasure, till the time arrives, as years pass by, that the young limbs, the life-fastened joints, are fully grown. So they carry and care for, father and mother, give gifts and gear. God alone knows what the winters will bring them as they wax!

To one it is given in the green of his youth that the final chapter for the wretched child is woefully written. A wolf shall eat him, the hoary heath-stalker; his mother then will mourn his passing. Such is not in man's power! One hunger shall harry, another the harsh storm drive, one a spear shall spill, another war shall break. One shall live his life lacking his eyesight, groping with his hands; another lame in the foot, sick with sinew-wounds, bewailing his sorrow, mourning his fate, his mind troubled.

One from a high branch in the heart of the wood shall featherless fall; yet he is in flight, he flails in the air, until no longer is he a fruit of the forest. Then on the roots he sinks, spirit-darkened, of his soul bereft, falls to the fold, his life-force flown.

One must walk on far-flung ways, go forth by need and bear his own food, treading the dew-tracked paths of strangers, a fearsome land; he has few providers living to help him, hated everywhere, for his wretched fate, a lordless exile.

One shall on the wide gallows ride, swinging toward death, until the soul-hoard, the bloody bone-house, is broken open. There the raven rips the sight from his head, the dark-coated one slits the soulless corpse; nor can he with his hands ward off that horror, that hateful sky-marauder; his life is shaken, and he, feeling-less, of life despaired, pale on the beam, abides his fate, wrapped in the slaughter-mist. A weary name is his!

One on the bale-fire the brand shall vanquish, the fierce flame fret the fated man; there his life-parting swiftly shall be, the red, raging ember; the woman weeps, who sees the brands consume her own son.

For one, a sword's edge on the mead-bench, from a wrathful, ale-soaked warrior, wrests his life, a wine-sated man; his words were too swift. Another at his beer, by the cup-bearer's hand, a mead-mad man, when he knows no measure, cannot mark a limit for his mouth, his mind, but must wretchedly relinquish his life, suffer a dire doom, shorn of all joys, and men will name him a self-slaughterer, and speak of his drinking, the mead-mad man's end.

One in his youth, by God's own might, shall end all his hardship-journeys, and in his old age afterward be blessed, dwelling in joy-days and taking of wealth, treasures and mead-cups among his kinsmen, as any man may hold and keep them.

So in manifold ways the mighty Lord across earth's expanse deals out to all, allots and assigns, and holds their fates, to one, rich blessings, to another a share of sorrow, to one, glad youth, to another glory in battle, mastery in war-play; to one, skill in the cast or the shot, shining success; to another, skill at the game-board, the cunning of colored wood. Some become scholars, wise and learned. For one, a wondrous gift through goldsmithing is granted; often he tempers and treasures well the thane of a great king, and he gives him broad lands as a loan. He takes it with joy.

One shall in the hall bring happiness to heroes, gladden at the beer-drinking the bench-sitters; there is the drinkers' great delight.

One shall with his harp at his lord's feet sit, and take fee for it, and ever swiftly strike the strings, let the leaping plectrum shrilly sing, the nail sounding sweetly; his need is great.

One shall the wild bird, the proud one, tame, the hawk on his hand, until that battle-swallow becomes winsome; he puts the jesses on, feeds it so in fetters, the feather-proud one, gentles the air-swift with little gifts, until the foreign one, in its dress and its deeds, to its food-giver becomes humble, and to the warrior's hand is well-trained.

So wondrously the Warden of Hosts throughout middle-earth the crafts of men shaped and allotted, and their fates assigned to each on earth of all humankind. Therefore let each now say thanks for all, that which He in His mercy to men decrees.