God's Battle Line

Like men set fast in battle array,
Stand these before me in the fray,
Matthew holds by the old stone wall --
What rests in eternity does not fall.
Mark bends his knee and strings his bow,
Doubt not, he is greater than his foe
Nor doubt the strength in old Luke's arms
Suffices to guard his friends from harm.
For is not the weakest greater than he
Who denies his Lord for eternity?
Behold last, and greater than all the rest
Than man, ox, or beast of wilderness
The eagle of Patmous, the youngest of all
Yet surest and wisest of all the Lord's thralls.
For who shall question the wisdom of He,
Called beloved of God from eternity?

Unferth

With back to the battle I stand yet unwounded,
My armour unbattered, my sword yet unnotched.
No foe has fallen to my ancient sword,
Shall I stand disgraced before my comrades, my lord?
Am I not Unferth, a great warrior renowned,
My name a terror, my head yet unbowed?
How long will I waver between terror and pride
Shall Unferth be first or shall I be denied?
Disgraced in my kin's eyes I shall appear
Unless by great deeds I prove I have conquered my fear
Or ... if I should act brave, but take no great risks
Perhaps none will note that something's amiss.

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Unferth is a character from the old norse tale Beowulf, one of the most beautiful old english poems on the earth. He is rather a coward, and when Beowulf shows up at court he tries to make him look foolish and weak, and fails miserably when Beowulf answers his boasts and needling comments with accounts of brave deeds. I was trying to capture some of Unferth's vaccilations in this poem while showing his good side too. However, I have been trying too hard I think. It needs to have another stanza of twelve lines, but that will have to wait. (It is supposed to be 12, 11, 10; 12, 11, 10 etc. with rhyming couplets in ... well I can never see the meter in a poem, so it is just supposed to be in the same meter, whatever that may be.) Post now, alter later.

A simple poem

Storm clouds roll around the palace of the sun
Thunderclap and lightning flash seem like distant guns
The armies of the darkness surround the walls of truth
Battle lines are drawn upon the plains of joy and youth
Naught seems left for the defense, no hope left at all
The enemy’s grim and powerful, good’s chance of victr’y small.
Yet upon those plains unbounded by aught save land and sky
There stands a hope beyond all hopes, the one who cannot die.
Yet He is not as other hopes, a shining figure armed
With armor fair of double proof, nor plumed like Caesar's guard.
His armor is His sun-browned skin, now crossed with bleeding scars
His crown a cap of cruel, dark thorns that cut and prick and mar.
His charger is an oaken tree, and was shaped by evil men
It seems a twisted, devilish thing, a monster from the fens.
"Death, death, death" cries the armies spawned in hell
Their trumpets blast, the very earth cracks and looses creatures great and fell.
Reeling back and holding, then falling back in fear
The armies of the best of men seem to fade and disappear.
One sole remnant, a meager few, make their stand about their Lord
And as it seems the day is done and they are for the sword,
A single cry escapes the lips of Jesus Christ the Lord.
Consummatum est!
Back are rolled the armies of the dark's own meager king
Back and back and back again they fall as that voice rings!
For in that moment is revealed as plain as brightest day
That the darkness has not conquered Him, it is He that's conquered they!
All glory to the Word of God, that great and merc'ful king
Who grievely wronged by Adam's sin defeated sin for him.