Saint of the Day Quote: Saint Alfred the Great

This sublime power to rise above the whole force of circumstances, 
to remain unbiased by the extremes of victory or defeat, to persevere in the teeth of disaster, 
to greet returning fortune with a cool eye, to have faith in men after repeated betrayals,
raises Alfred far above the turmoil of barbaric wars to his pinnacle of deathless wictory.
Sir Winston Churchill, The Birth of Britain


And there was death on the Emperor
          And night upon the Pope:
          And Alfred, hiding in deep grass,
          Hardened his heart with hope.

          A sea-folk blinder than the sea
          Broke all about his land,
          But Alfred up against them bare
          And gripped the ground and grasped the air,
          Staggered, and strove to stand.

          He bent them back with spear and spade,
          With desperate dyke and wall,
          With foemen leaning on his shield
          And roaring on him when he reeled;
          And no help came at all.

          He broke them with a broken sword
          A little towards the sea,
          And for one hour of panting peace,
          Ringed with a roar that would not cease,
          With golden crown and girded fleece
          Made laws under a tree.

          The Northmen came about our land
          A Christless chivalry:
          Who knew not of the arch or pen,
          Great, beautiful half-witted men
          From the sunrise and the sea.

          Misshapen ships stood on the deep
          Full of strange gold and fire,
          And hairy men, as huge as sin
          With horned heads, came wading in
          Through the long, low sea-mire.

          Our towns were shaken of tall kings
          With scarlet beards like blood:
          The world turned empty where they trod,
          They took the kindly cross of God
          And cut it up for wood.

          Their souls were drifting as the sea,
          And all good towns and lands
          They only saw with heavy eyes,
          And broke with heavy hands,

          Their gods were sadder than the sea,
          Gods of a wandering will,
          Who cried for blood like beasts at night,
          Sadly, from hill to hill.

          They seemed as trees walking the earth,
          As witless and as tall,
          Yet they took hold upon the heavens
          And no help came at all.

          They bred like birds in English woods,
          They rooted like the rose,
          When Alfred came to Athelney
          To hide him from their bows

          There was not English armour left,
          Nor any English thing,
          When Alfred came to Athelney
          To be an English king.
GK Chesterton, Ballad of the White Horse