Much it behoveth <br />Each one of mortals, <br />That he his soul's journey <br />In himself ponder, <br />How deep it may be. <br />When Death cometh, <br />The bonds he breaketh <br />By which were united <br />The soul and the body. <br /> <br />Long it is thenceforth <br />Ere the soul taketh <br />From God himself <br />Its woe or its weal; <br />As in the world erst, <br />Even in its earth-vessel, <br />It wrought before. <br /> <br />The soul shall come <br />Wailing with loud voice, <br />After a sennight, <br />The soul, to find <br />The body <br />That it erst dwelt in;-- <br />Three hundred winters, <br />Unless ere that worketh <br />The Eternal Lord, <br />The Almighty God, <br />The end of the world. <br /> <br />Crieth then, so care-worn, <br />With cold utterance, <br />And speaketh grimly, <br />The ghost to the dust: <br />'Dry dust! thou dreary one! <br />How little didst thou labor for me! <br />In the foulness of earth <br />Thou all wearest away <br />Like to the loam! <br />Little didst thou think <br />How thy soul's journey <br />Would be thereafter, <br />When from the body <br />It should be led forth.'<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-soul-s-complaint-against-the-body-from-the-anglo-saxon/
