In the midst of the church he opened his mouth.
And the lord filled him with the spirit of wisdom and understanding.
I pondered Saint Bede today , his life and writing both.
And his life and work thirteen hundred years ago and still running.

This untroubled solitary life.
In closed monastic walls in Wearmouth and Jarrow.
The only source for England’s fledgling history and her strife..
Our very first writer of English prose now lost to our sorrow.

We can read of him in St Cuthbert’s life.
His last days and death , his life and work replete.
He joked , learn quickly I don’t know how long I will last in mortal strife.
Dear Master he was told the book is almost complete.

His last thought , little gifts to his brothers, pepper, napkins and some incense.
But to us only an incomplete history
His last word , glory be to the father before losing all physical sense.
And then he entered the greatest mystery.

The boy had said the book is now completed .
Like his lord he said it is finished.