Vainglory

Listen, a wise sage told me in days of yore, a clever prophet, of many special wonders. A man wise in books unlocked his word-hoard, a prophet's teaching, an ancient decree, so that I might truly then understand by that sacred song, God's own child, a welcome guest, and the weaker one also, burdened by sin, and know them with clear distinction. Every man may easily consider this, who does not let, in this fleeting time, wantonness of spirit mar his mind nor in his count of days grow drunk and proud, when many who hold council are gathered, haughty war-smiths in the wine-halls; they sit at the symbel, reciting their tales, exchanging words, striving to know what strength of spear dwells there in the hall among the men, when wine has whetted the warrior's breast-chamber. Clamor rises, shouting in the troop, their speeches ring out in many ways. So are their spirits variously divided; the retainers are unalike. One in his vainglory presses on with power, an unseemly spirit swells up within him; and there are too many of them! His malice is entirely filled with the fiend's flying arrows, with treacherous wiles; he grows brittle and boasts, proclaims himself much greater than the better man, thinking his ways seem to everyone entirely blameless. The truth is otherwise, once one perceives the treachery of his tricks. He plots and he deceives, thinks up a host of hidden snares, lets fly the spears of thought, shooting them in showers. He does not know the guilt of the feud he has fostered; he hates his better, that man, out of envy, lets the arrows of malice breach the soul's rampart, which the Measurer commanded that he should defend that place of war. He sits, proud at the feast, and cunningly lets, overcome by wine, his words fly out, pressing with contention, leavened with pride, kindled with envy, full of vainglory, with malice and cunning wiles. Now you may know, if you should meet such a thane dwelling in the halls, know by these few fore-tellings that he is the fiend's own child, wrapped round in flesh; he has a perilous life, a spirit bound for the abyss, useless to God, to the Glory-King. Thus the prophet sang, a man ready with words, and recited this lay: "He who himself, in that perilous time, through overweening pride raises himself up, lifts himself high in spirit, he shall be brought low, after his final journey, bowed down deep, to dwell fast in torments, thronged by serpents. It happened long ago in God's own kingdom that among the angels vainglory arose, a far-famed strife. They raised up accusation, a harsh campaign; they defiled heaven, scorned their Better, when they plotted betrayal and to rob the mighty Glory-King of his throne, as it was not right, and then to establish by their own decree a joyous land of glory. The Father of Creation withstood them in battle; for them that fight became too grim. But it is far different for the other man, he who here on earth lives humbly, and toward each of his kinsmen always keeps peace among the people, and loves his enemy, though that one often caused him offense willfully in this world. He may ascend from here to the joy of glory, to the hope of the holy, into the angels' homeland. It is not so for the other, he who in pride with wicked deeds lives in vice; their rewards are not alike with the Glory-King." Know this, then: if you meet a humble man, a thane among his people, his spirit is always joined with him— he is God's own child, welcome in this world, if that prophet did not lie to me. Therefore we must always be mindful of salvation's counsel, remembering in our hearts at every hour the best of all, the Ruler of Victories. Amen.