At Easter it's good to think about our Anglo-Saxon ancestors and their thoughts about Easter:
þonc sie Gode for þissere Eastre (thank God for this Easter time).
The poem The Dream of the Rood gives a wonderful vision of the cross or rood:
It seemed to me that I saw the greatest tree
brought into the sky, bewound in light,
the brightest of beams. That beacon was entirely
garnished with gold. Gemstones
prominent and proud at the corners of the earth—
five more as well blazoned across the span of its shoulders.
Every angel of the Lord warded it there,
a brilliant sight of a universe to come.
Hwæt!
Ic swefna cyst secgan wylle,
hwæt me gemætte to midre nihte,
syðþan reordberend reste wunedon!
þuhte me þæt ic gesawe syllicre treow on lyft lædan,leohte bewunden,
beama beorhtost. Eall þæt beacen wæs
begoten mid golde. Gimmas stodon
fægere æt foldan sceatum, swylce þær fife wæron
uppe on þam eaxlegespanne. Beheoldon þær engel dryhtnes ealle
fægere þurh forðgesceaft....
A visit to the Ruthwell Cross in the tiny village of Ruthwell on the Scottish border is a magical experience. Here in the church is an Anglo-Saxon cross, probably dating from the 8th Century, carved with lines from The Dream of the Rood. As you stand looking at this monument thoughts chase each other through your mind: who carved these words? when? why? How did they get into this church and how have they survived?
þonc sie Gode for þissere Eastre (thank God for this Easter time).
The poem The Dream of the Rood gives a wonderful vision of the cross or rood:
It seemed to me that I saw the greatest tree
brought into the sky, bewound in light,
the brightest of beams. That beacon was entirely
garnished with gold. Gemstones
prominent and proud at the corners of the earth—
five more as well blazoned across the span of its shoulders.
Every angel of the Lord warded it there,
a brilliant sight of a universe to come.
Hwæt!
Ic swefna cyst secgan wylle,
hwæt me gemætte to midre nihte,
syðþan reordberend reste wunedon!
þuhte me þæt ic gesawe syllicre treow on lyft lædan,leohte bewunden,
beama beorhtost. Eall þæt beacen wæs
begoten mid golde. Gimmas stodon
fægere æt foldan sceatum, swylce þær fife wæron
uppe on þam eaxlegespanne. Beheoldon þær engel dryhtnes ealle
fægere þurh forðgesceaft....
A visit to the Ruthwell Cross in the tiny village of Ruthwell on the Scottish border is a magical experience. Here in the church is an Anglo-Saxon cross, probably dating from the 8th Century, carved with lines from The Dream of the Rood. As you stand looking at this monument thoughts chase each other through your mind: who carved these words? when? why? How did they get into this church and how have they survived?
