The Strife Is O'er

Word & Song by Anthony Esolen

Eastertide is still with us, and we should not cease to rejoice, because the whole world turns a corner with the resurrection of Jesus. Life and not death is brooding on the waters. The mouth of death is glutted with itself and shall be shut forever. Grave, where is thy victory? Death, where is thy sting?

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So we have for our Hymn of the Week a song of victory, “The Strife Is O’er,” originally written in Latin, some time in the 17th century, as Finita iam sunt proelia, which means, “The battles now are ended.” Battles — and that reminds me of a moment in the wonderful Anglo-Saxon poem, “The Dream of the Rood.” (Read my own verse translation of this poem here.) The poet, lonely, wounded with sins, sees a towering Cross in his dream, now shining with gems, now streaming with blood. And the Cross speaks, telling the story of how it was on that terrible and glorious day when Christ, like a Hero, stripped off his war-gear and climbed upon the tree, resolute in the sight of many, because he intended to set mankind free. And all creation looked on: Christ was on the Cross. But when he died, his loyal thanes took him from the Cross and laid him to rest, says the Cross, because he was — here comes a Germanic understatement — weary after the great battle.
Life is a real fight, isn’t it? Or is it? Let’s say that without Easter, at the best, life is like what the old pagan Germans thought of it, in their sad and beautiful myth, typical of a people coming from the far north. There’s an achingly brief and glorious summer, and fall with the nip of frost in the air, and then — long winter. So then, the gods of Valhalla and the men of the earth shall, in the end, fight their climactic battle against the giants and the forces of darkness; and the gods and men shall lose. But they fight anyway.
Then comes the good news: death and darkness do not have the last word! In fact, they have no real word at all, only a tatter of half-truths and lies. That’s what the Latin poet suggests: all that death says is barbara, barbarous — the bibble-babble of those cast outside the eternal City. The Word brings life, victory, peace.
Think of it, then, dear readers. Nobody knows just how it will be, but it’s as the apostle says, “we know that we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is,” the living God. His is the first word, and His the last.

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The strife is o'er, the battle done; The victory of life is won; The song of triumph has begun. Alleluia! The powers of death have done their worst, But Christ their legions hath dispersed; Let shout of holy joy outburst. Alleluia! The three sad days are quickly sped, He rises glorious from the dead: All glory to our risen Head! Alleluia! He closed the yawning gates of hell; The bars from heaven's high portals fell; Let hymns of praise his triumph tell! Alleluia! Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee, From death's dread sting thy servants free, That we may live and sing to thee. Alleluia!

We are fortunate again to listen to today’s hymn sung by the ever-excellent Choir of King’s College, Cambridge.

Word & Song is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymns, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast for paid subscribers, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. Paid subscribers also receive audio-enhanced posts and on-demand access to our full archive, and may add their comments to our posts and discussions.

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Word & Song by Anthony Esolen

reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true