In strife and destruction; but struggling by night we Shall do without edges, dare he to look for Weaponless warfare, and wise-mooded Father The glory apportion, God ever-holy, On which hand soever to him seemeth proper.” Then the brave-mooded hero bent to his slumber, The pillow received the cheek of the noble; And many a martial mere-thane attending Sank to his slumber. Seemed it unlikely That ever thereafter any should hope to Be happy at home, hero-friends visit Or the lordly troop-castle where he lived from his childhood; They had heard how slaughter had snatched from the wine-hall, Had recently ravished, of the race of the Scyldings Too many by far. But the Lord to them granted The weaving of war-speed, 19 to Wederish heroes Aid and comfort, that every opponent By one man’s war-might they worsted and vanquished, By the might of himself; the truth is established That God Almighty hath governed for ages