The Final Years

The long dark night of winter presses hard,

cold hard days give way to colder nights

that freeze the limbs and stiffen the bones

in this unkind time of the northern year.

Lord, this chill is unlike any that went before,

and now at my age it is one that unsettles me;

I have seen good times aplenty in my halcyon days,

and I know this coming age will not spare us.

Senhor, tem misericordia de nós...

This winter has outdone its rival seasons,

taken Nature hostage, given it tooth and claw;

the cold and wind to prime and pierce us,

the sleet and ice and snow to unmake us.

Lord, are these the wilderness years foretold,

the barren time of otherworld temptation?

is this the moment when we must be parted,

when our lean souls are driven out from us?

Senhor, tem piedade de nós...

I feel the icy sting of a cold wind, oh Lord

as it sweeps across these stony desolate places,

in these stormy times of unfolding prophecies.

I fear the finality of what must come to pass,

of the union of life and death in this end of days.

Senhor, mal aguento este frio...