I have recently been reading a biography of Dorothy L. Sayers:
Barbara Reynolds, “Dorothy L. Sayers: Her Life and Soul”, reprinted by
St. Martins Griffin, New York in 1997.

Dorothy L. Sayers (1893-1957) was one of the most influential people
in Christian circles in England in the 1940s and 1950s (some have argued
that the only really influential Christians during those decades were
two laypeople: Dorothy Sayers and C. S. Lewis).
She is perhaps best known for the radio play “The Man Born to be King”,
her series of detective novels featuring Lord Peter Wimsey, and her
translation of Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, completed by Barbara Reynolds
after her death.

Reynolds’ biography contains many interesting sidelights on Sayers’ life.
Over the next few months I hope to find time to type some of these and
post them to a.r.c in the hope that we might be able to have some
interesting discussions arising out of what Sayers thought or wrote on
various issues. Many of these are still relevant nearly 50 years after
her death, and she would have felt quite at home in the early 21st
century.

I’ve added a few comments from the book to my collection of quotations
for inserting in my signature file – see below for a comment on some
Christians today.

One of these can be found on pages 364 and 365, the concluding pages of
chapter 27, “Gaudum”, which covers the last few years of Sayers’ life.
The whole of these two pages is given here, to provide some context for
the hymn.

Her work on Dante progressed but she was beginning to feel tired and
sometimes hinted that she wondered if she would live to finish it.
When she died suddenly on 17 December 1957, she had completed only
two-thirds of the last volume, “Paradise”.

The weekend before her death had been a happy one. On the Friday she
had attended a baptism in Cambridge, becoming a godmother, a
sacramental act which gave her quite evident joy. On the following
Sunday, at home in Witham, she had received a visit from her much
loved friend Val Gielgud, After her death he wrote, “She was her
usual brisk, vital, amusing, almost exuberant self, full of plans
for the future . . . “

On the following Tuesday, 17 December, she went to London to do some
Christmas shopping, giving instructions for gifts to be sent to her
friends. She was tired and was tempted to stay overnight in town but
felt she must get back. Her usual driver, Jack Lapwood, met her at
Witham station and drove her to her house. She went upstairs, threw
her hat and coat on the bed and went down to feed her hungry cats.
She fell dead at the foot of the stairs, where she was found the next
morning.

As a young woman, while still at Oxford, she had written a poem
entitled “Hymn in Contemplation of Sudden Death”. Though immature,
it speaks with a strange prescience for the whole of her life.

Lord, if this night my journey end,
I thank Thee first for many a friend,
The sturdy and unquestioned piers
That run beneath my bridge of years.

And next, for all the love I gave
To things and men this side the grave,
Wisely or not, since I can prove
There always is much good in love.

Next, for the power Thou gavest me
To view the whole world mirthfully,
For laughter, paraclete of pain,
Like April suns across the rain.

Also that, being not too wise
To do things foolish in men’s eyes,
I gained experience by this,
And saw life somewhat as it is.

Next, for the joy of labour done
And burdens shouldered in the sun;
Nor less, for shame of labour lost,
And meekness born of a barren boast.

For every fair and useless thing
That bids men pause from labouring
To look and find the larkspur blue
And marigolds of a different hue;

For eyes to see and ears to hear,
For tongue to speak and thews to bear,
For hands to handle, feet to go,
For life, I give Thee thanks also.

For all things merry, quaint and strange,
For sound and silence, strength and change,
And last, for death, which only gives
Value to everything that lives;

For these, good Lord that madest me,
I praise Thy name; since verily,
I of my joy have had no dearth
Though this night were my last on earth.

Salaam
Ken Smith