Poema Conjugis Ad Uxorem [Incertus]

A Poem of a Husband to His Wife. He urges his wife to dedicate herself entirely to God. Come now, I pray, my inseparable companion in life, let us dedicate this brief and trembling life to the Lord God. The swiftly turning wheel of days sees our rapid days pass by, and the fragile limbs of the world diminish, perish, and slip away. All that we hold flees; nor do fleeting things have any return. Lustful and wandering minds are drawn by an empty appearance. Where now is the image of things? Where are the riches of the powerful, for which it was their will to seize captive souls? He who once turned the earth with a hundred plows now hastens to possess a pair of oxen. He who was often carried through cities in a magnificent carriage now approaches the empty countryside on weary feet. He who once plowed the seas with ten lofty-prowed ships now boards a small skiff and steers it himself. The condition of fields is not the same, nor of any cities. And all things rush headlong to an end. By sword, plague, famine, chains, cold, heat—in a thousand ways, death alone snatches wretched men. Wars tremble everywhere; fury rouses all; countless kings fall upon kings with arms. Impious discord rages in a confused world; gentle peace has departed; you see the last of everything. And even if time were to outlast a closed age, or the world could have long days, it would still be fitting for us to observe our own decline and for each to see the end of his own life. For what does it profit me that rivers flow in a long course, always borne by inexhaustible waters? That many forests have outlasted centuries? That flowering fields endure in their places?

These things remain, but our parents did not remain: I live as a guest of a brief time. Therefore we are not here for nothing, born into ages which perish for us and in which we perish; but we are to merit eternal life in this life, and long rest is to follow brief labor. And yet this labor, if it is harsh to the rebellious, and if stern laws strike fierce hearts, still this burden is not heavy for a gentle neck, nor does the yoke harm the soft necks of the compliant. God is to be loved with the whole mind, with the whole strength of the heart: the second care of man is to be vigorous. Let him not do to anyone what he would not wish done to himself; let him, when injured, not know how to demand vengeance. Content with modest things, let him avoid being held in high esteem; let him not fear being scorned, let him not take pleasure in scorning. Frugal, speaking the truth, chaste in mind and body, let him lead a blameless life as a lover of peace. From his own goods, let him give to all whom he sees in need; let him not covet what is not his, let him give what is his. What, I ask, is considered harsh in these commands? What will there be that faith cannot obey? Those who believe that the holy prophets sang the truth, and who do not doubt that the words of God remain, who see Christ having suffered the punishments of the cross, soon after the last things; who see the full honor of the exalted Father, and who expect Him Himself, with great majesty, terrible, watchful by a rich lamp—these find earthly things foul, heavenly things open, and do not conduct themselves as captive slaves of this time. The deceitful wisdom of the world has not captured them, nor have the sterile cares of the world been inserted into them.

Empires and fasces, the gifts of an unlearned mob, and wealth, which the world has made the seeds of crimes, they have trampled underfoot, seeking heaven with holy ambition, by the suffrages of Christ and the applause of angels. Neither does hard labor conquer them, nor alluring pleasure. They desire to seek nothing, they fear to lose nothing. They hate all that is not of Christ; in him who is of Christ, he establishes himself, in himself who chooses to bear him. That God, the creator of heaven and earth, for my sake was born a man from a holy Virgin. He offered his back to whips, his cheeks to slaps, his face to spittle, and did not refuse to be fixed to the cross. Not that such patience brought anything to God, whose resources neither increase nor diminish; but because what was corrupted in me, so that I might rise with him, I have become the body of Christ, and he my own. He bore me as he died, he bore me as he rose, having conquered death, and carried me with him above the stars to the Father. What then should I refuse to endure for such a hope? Or what will separate me from my Lord? Apply fire, probe my entrails with your hand, torturer: my limbs, once loosened, will escape your punishments. If I am shut in a dark prison and bound with chains, I am free in the ecstasy of my mind and I reach God. If the lictor prepares to cut off my neck with his sword, he will find me fearless: death is swift, punishment brief. I do not fear exile; the world is one home for all. I despise hunger; the word of my Lord is my food. Yet this confidence does not arise in me from myself; it is you, Christ, who grant me to speak, and you who grant me to suffer. In ourselves we dare nothing, but we trust in you, who command us to fight and make us victorious.

My only hope is God: to believe in Him is life, who has made me a citizen of another fatherland. Ordered by the lot of my fathers to traverse the declining world, I go as a soldier under the sacred rites of Christ, a stranger here. Nor do I doubt that I hold earthly things by a brief right; I will use my own possessions as if they were not mine. I will not marvel at wealth, I will pursue no goods; I will not fear poverty, with Christ as my riches. With the same mind with which I stand in adversity, I will use prosperity; neither will evils overcome me, nor goods captivate me. I will always give thanks to Christ, I will always give honor; the praise of the Lord will always live in my mouth. Only you, faithful companion, gird yourself with me for this struggle, to which God has offered his aid to the weak. Anxiously restrain the proud, console the grieving; let us both be an example of a pious life. Be the guardian of your guardian, render mutual aid; raise the one who falls, rise with the help of the one who lifts. So that not only the same flesh, but also the mind may be one for us, and one spirit may nourish us both.