[FONT=Arial, Geneva][FONT=Arial, Geneva]A man sits restless, bereaved of joys,[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]feels sick at heart, secretly thinks [/FONT][FONT=Arial, Geneva]that his share of hardships is over-large.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]He may then reflect that through this world[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]God in his wisdom goes on his way;[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]a gift of grace he gives to many,[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]assurance of glory, but grief to some.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]I will tell you something true of myself:[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]the Heodenings employed me as poet [scop] for a time,[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]I was dear to my lord, and Deor was my name.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]For many years I held a high-ranking post,[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]acknowledged by my master, but now Heorrenda,a man skilled in song, is assigned the lands the protector of fighters gave first to me.[/FONT]
[FONT=Arial, Geneva]That passed over; and so may this.[/FONT]
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