If you are looking for King Alfred’s Old English Version of St. Augustine’s Soliloquies Part 3 you are coming to the right place.
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_A._ _Alas! Shall I ever come to that which I hope for, or shall that ever come to me which I desire?_
_R._ Add now love as a third besides faith and hope; for the eyes of no soul are entirely sound–especially to see G.o.d with–if lacking these three. Seeing, then, is knowing.
_A._ If then there be sound eyes, that is, perfect understanding, what is then wanting to it, or what is more needful?
_R._ The soul’s vision is _Reason and Contemplation_. But many souls look with these, and yet see not what they desire, because they have not entirely sound eyes. But he who wisheth to see G.o.d must have the eyes of his mind whole; that is, he must have an abiding faith and a just hope and a full love. When he hath all these, then hath he life blessed and eternal. The vision which we shall catch of G.o.d is knowledge. That knowledge is between two things–between that which understandeth and that which is understood–and is fastened on both _even as love is between the lover and the one loved. On both it is fastened, as we said before concerning the anchor-cable that the one end was fast to the ship, and the other to the land._
_A._ _Then if it ever again happeneth that I can see G.o.d as thou now teachest me that I should behold Him, would I need all three of the things that thou formerly spakest about, namely: faith and hope and love?_
_R._ What need then is there of faith, when one seeth that which he formerly exercised faith toward, and again knoweth that which he formerly hoped for? But love never waneth–it abideth greatly increased when the understanding is fixed on G.o.d; nor hath love ever any end.
_Omni consummatione uidi finem; latum mandatum tuum nimis_: _that is, of everything in the world I shall see the end, but the end of thy commandments I shall never see_. That is the love about which he prophesied. But, although the soul be perfect and pure while it is in the body, it can not see G.o.d as it desireth, because of the sorrow and tribulation of the body, except with much labor through faith and hope and love. _These are the three anchors which sustain the ship of the mind in the midst of the dashing of the waves. Yet the mind hath much comfort because it believeth and clearly knoweth that the misfortunes and unhappiness of this world are not eternal. So the ship’s master,
when the ship rideth most unsteadily at anchor and the sea is roughest, then knoweth of a truth that calm weather is coming. Three things are needful to the eyes of each soul: One is that they be whole; the second, that they should look at what they would see; the third, that they may see what they look at. For the three is G.o.d’s help necessary, for one can neither do good nor any thing without His aid. Therefore He is always to be entreated that He be ever helpful; therefore also He inspireth us and inciteth us first to be well-wishing, and afterwards worketh with us that which He willeth till such time as we perfect it with Him; and especially He worketh with us as with some powerful tool, just as it is written that with each well-working person G.o.d is a co-worker. We know that no man can perform any good unless G.o.d work with him; howbeit no man must be so idle as not to begin something through the strength that G.o.d giveth him._
 Ps. 119. 96, inexactly quoted.
 Translating MS., _ho feut_, emended to _hlaford_ at the suggestion of Professor Cook. Cf. translator’s ed. of the OE.
version, 29. 20.
 1 Cor. 3. 9.
_A._ _Thou teachest me the right way. Now I know what I ought to do; but I do not know whether I can or can not._
_R._ _Thou oughtest not to despair because thou canst not come at once to that which thou desirest for thyself. Can he who would learn a science ever do so in a short time, a little more or a little less?
Thine is the science of all sciences, to wit, that one should seek after G.o.d and look toward Him and see Him._
_A._ _Well thou advisest me; but I recall what thou didst formerly promise me, and very joyfully I abide that promise; thou didst promise to teach me how to see G.o.d with the eyes of my mind as clearly as I now see the sun with the eyes of my body._
_R._ _Well thou remindest me; I will do for thee what I promised._ Call to mind now that thou canst see with thy body’s eyes three things in regard to the sun: One is that it existeth; another, that it shineth; the third, that it lighteth up many things with its shining. _All the things which are bright, when the sun shineth on them, shine against it, each after its own kind. But those things which are not bright shine not against the sun, although it shineth on them. But the sun shineth, nevertheless, on them, and yet he who looketh toward it can not see it wholly just as it is. All this and more thou canst observe concerning G.o.d. He is the high Sun. He always abideth, lighting up with His own light both the sun which we see with bodily eyes and all creatures both spiritual and terrestrial. Therefore he seemeth to me a very foolish man who wisheth to understand Him just as He is, while we are yet in this world. Behold! I suppose that no one is so foolish that he becometh sorrowful because he can not see and understand, just as it is, the sun which we look at with corporeal eyes; but every one rejoiceth that at least he can understand according to the measure of his understanding.
He doth well who desireth to understand the Eternal and Almighty Sun; but he doth very foolishly, if he wisheth to know Him perfectly while he is in this world._
_A._ _Very wonderfully and very truly thou teachest, and very much thou hast comforted me and brought me into good hope._ But I pray still for what thou aforetime didst promise me.
_R._ Two things I promised that I would accomplish _and teach thee, to wit, to understand G.o.d and thyself. But I would know how thou desirest to understand that–whether thou wouldst believe without experience, or know by experience._
_A._ _I would know it by experience, for I know nothing of it surely._
_R._ That is no wonder. I did not explain it to thee in such wise that thou couldst know it by experience; for there is yet something which thou must first know, to wit, whether we both are whole.
_A._ Thou must know whether thou findest any health, either in me, or in thyself, or in us both. _It becometh thee to teach and me to listen; and it becometh me to answer what I understand according to the measure of my understanding, if so be I understand it at all; if I do not understand it at all, then must I admit it and leave it to thy judgment._
_R._ Wishest thou to know more than about G.o.d and thyself?
_A._ I answer thee that I do not _wish anything_ more earnestly; but I dare not promise thee that I shall not desire any thing else than that; for it is verily hidden from me, albeit something cometh into my mind which, methinks, nothing can hinder me from furthering and performing.
When another thing cometh which seemeth to me more right and reasonable, then I leave off that which I formerly held enough; and therefore at times it happeneth that something is so fixed in my mind, that I think I shall never let it go so long as I live. Howbeit there cometh to me then some trouble which occupieth me so that I can never leave it, nor can I perform it although I can not think of any better [thing to be done].
But three things have troubled me most: One is, I fear that I must part with my friends whom I love most, _or they with me–either for life or for death_; the second is, I fear sickness, _both the known and the unknown_; the third is, I fear death.
 Supplied by translator.
_R._ _I hear now what thou lovest most next to thine own reason and G.o.d_: They are, the life of thy friends, and thine own health, and thine own life. _Of these five things thou art afraid that thou shalt lose some, because thou lovest them all very much._ If thou didst not love them, then thou hadst not dreaded that thou wouldst lose them.
_A._ I admit what thou sayest to me.
_R._ Therefore methinks that I see thee very sad and greatly cast down in thy mind, because thou hast not such health as thou hadst; nor hast thou all thy friends with thee _so agreeable and harmonious as thou wouldst. Nor doth it seem to me any wonder that thou art sad for that reason._
_A._ Thou understandest it rightly; I can not gainsay that.
_R._ If then it ever happen that thou shalt find thyself full whole and full strong, and hast all thy friends with thee, both in mind and in body, _and in that same work and in that same will which pleaseth thee best to do_, wilt thou then be happy at all?
_A._ Yea, verily; if it should now suddenly happen, I do not know _how on earth_ I would begin.
_R._ Hast thou not then still some trouble, such as immoderate sorrow, either of mind or of body–seeing now thou hast those two things? Wert thou, therefore, foolish in heart, when thou didst wish that thou shouldst see with such eyes the high and everlasting Sun?
_A._ Now thou hast overcome me withal, so that I by no means know how much of health I have, nor how much of sickness.
_R._ That is no wonder. No man hath such sound eyes that he can look any length of time toward the sun which we here see, much less if he have weak eyes. But those that have weak eyes can be more at ease in the darkness than in the light. Methinks, though, that it seemeth to thee that thou hast sound eyes. _Thou thinkest of the health of thy soul’s eyes, but thou dost not think of the great light which thou wishest to see. Be not wroth with me, albeit I question thee and examine thee, for I needs must do that. Methinks thou dost not understand thyself._
_A._ _I am in no wise wroth with thee, but rejoice in what thou sayest, because I know that thou seekest my good._
_R._ Wishest thou any wealth?
_A._ Long ago I resolved that I should despise it. I am now three and thirty years old, and I was one less than twenty when I first resolved that I would not love wealth overmuch. Though enough should come to me, I would not rejoice very much, _nor enjoy it too immoderately, nor would I gain more to keep than I could fitly make use of, and keep and support the men on, whom I must help_; and the residue I think as orderly to divide as I best am able so to do.
_R._ Wishest thou any honor?
_A._ I confess to thee that I did wish that till recently desire failed.
_R._ Desirest thou not a beautiful wife, and withal modest and well instructed and of good manners and subject to thy will, and one who hath much substance and would not engross thee in any thing, nor hinder thee from enjoying leisure at thy will?
_A._ Dost thou not praise her overmuch that I may wish her all the more?
For methinks there is nothing worse for him _that willeth to serve G.o.d than to take a wife–though some one hath said_ that it is better to take one for the rearing of children. Howbeit I say that _it is better for priests not to have a wife. Therefore I decided that I would take none, because I wished to be the freer to serve G.o.d_.
_R._ I hear now that thou dost not think to take a wife; but I would know whether thou still hast any love or l.u.s.t _after any uncleanness_.
_A._ _Why askest thou more about that?_ I do not now desire that; but if l.u.s.t ever cometh to me, I dread it _as an adder_. Ever the less is my desire for it, and ever the more I wish to see the light, even as I l.u.s.t the less after this manner.
_R._ How about food? How much dost thou desire that?