Book Of Parables - From Heaven There Fell Upon The Foaming Wave

From Heaven there fell upon the foaming wave
A timid drop; the flood with anger roared,--

But God, its modest boldness to reward,
Strength to the drop and firm endurance gave.
Its form the mussel captive took,

And to its lasting glory and renown,

The pearl now glistens in our monarch's crown,
With gentle gleam and loving look.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

I Would To Heaven That I Were So Much Clay

I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
Because at least the past were passed away -
And for the future - (but I write this reeling,
Having got drunk exceedingly today,
So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say - the future is a serious matter -
And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!

by George Gordon Byron.

The ebb of day has now begun;
The waters to the low west crowd;
But one forgotten wisp of cloud
Glows like a fragment of the sun,
And stranded on the shores of Night,
Where ‘gainst the sky the telegraph
Stretching his dim, audacious path
Defiantly to heaven aspires,
There lies a maiden, drowned and white—
The torn Moon tangled in the wires!

by Arthur Henry Adams.

To The Baron Destonne,

WITH AIKIN'S ESSAY ON SONG-WRITING

To Gallia's gay and gallant coast
Haste, little volume, speed thy flight;
And proudly there go make thy boast
How Britons love—how Britons write.
Say, Love can hold his torch as high
Beneath our heaven deformed with showers,
As in her pure and brilliant sky,
By vine-clad hills or myrtle bowers:
Ask if her damsels bloom more fair;
Ask if her swains can love as true;
And urge her poets' tuneful care
To sing their praise in numbers due.

by Anna Laetitia Barbauld.

Stoneman In Heaven

The Seraphs came to Christ, and said: 'Behold!
The man, presumptuous and overbold,
Who boasted that his mercy could excel
Thine own, is dead and on his way to Hell.'

Gravely the Saviour asked: 'What did he do
To make his impious assertion true?'

'He was a Governor, releasing all
The vilest felons ever held in thrall.
No other mortal, since the dawn of time,
Has ever pardoned such a mass of crime!'

Christ smiled benignly on the Seraphim:
'Yet I am victor, for I pardon _him_.'

by Ambrose Bierce.

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour -- when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the Heaven that clear obscure
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

by George Gordon Byron.

On observing the light of two lamps in the
Town form a Triangle with a conspicuous
Star in the Evening Sky.

Two lights below and one above—
Two lights that lead astray,
And one that points to blissful rest
After life’s feverish day.

False Lights of Earth! that shine to lure
The wayworn traveller on,
Till in some lonely wild he sinks
And lies in darkness down.

Fair star of night! thy friendly ray,
To erring man is given,
The finger-post of Deity
Marking the road to Heaven!

by Caroline Carleton.

The Old Man's Funeral

Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,
In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled,
Sinks where his islands of departure spread
O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain head.

Why weep ye then for him, who, having won
The bound of man's appointed years, at last.
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done,
Serenely to his final rest has passed;
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set?

by William Cullen Bryant.

Coming with the daffodils and dying with the roses,
Wafted by the zephyr's wing athwart the spaces high,
Lurking in the flower's bloom or e'er its breast uncloses,
Reeling with sweet draughts of scent, and light, and deep blue sky;
Shaking wide its dusty wings and like the breezes breasting
Burdenless and innocent the sky's eternal steep:-
Thus doth fare the butterfly like hope that never resting,
Rifles all but cannot quench desire that ever questing,
Bears it home to heaven again for lasting joy and deep.

translated by Wilfrid Thorley

by Alphonse de Lamartine.

Under A Sky Of Uncreated Mud

Under a sky of uncreated mud
or sunk beneath the accursed streets, my life
is added up of cupboard-musty weeks
and ring'd about with walls of ugliness:
some narrow world of ever-streaming air.
My days of azure have forgotten me.
Nought stirs, in garret-chambers of my brain,
except the squirming brood of miseries
older than memory, while, far out of sight
behind the dun blind of the rain, my dreams
of sun on leaves and waters drip thro' years
nor stir the slumbers of some sullen well,
beneath whose corpse-fed weeds I too shall sink.

by Christopher John Brennan.

Tell Me, Brother, What Happens After Death?

Tell me, brother, what happens after death?
The whole world is arguing about it --
Some say you become a ghost,
Others that you go to heaven,
And some that you get close to God,
And the Vedas insist you're a bit of sky
Reflected in a jar fated to shatter.

When you look for sin and virtue in nothing,
You end up with nothing.
The elements live in the body together
But go their own ways at death.

Prasad says: you end, brother,
Where you began, a reflection
Rising in water, mixing with water,
Finally one with water.

[Translated by Leonard Nathan and Clinton Seely]

by Ramprasad Sen.

No Man Knoweth His Sepulchre

When he, who, from the scourge of wrong,
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,
Saw the fair region, promised long,
And bowed him on the hills to die;

God made his grave, to men unknown,
Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,
And laid the aged seer alone
To slumber while the world grows old.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust
Till the pure spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
His servant's humble ashes lie,
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
To call its inmate to the sky.

by William Cullen Bryant.

Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Crœsus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with trembling glances, overhead.

The heaven above? A strangling cavern wall;
The lighted ceiling of a music-hall
Where every actor treads a bloody soil-

The hermit's hope; the terror of the sot;
The sky: the black lid of the mighty pot
Where the vast human generations boil!

by Charles Baudelaire.

The Massacre At Scio

Weep not for Scio's children slain;
Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed,
Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain
For vengeance on the murderer's head.

Though high the warm red torrent ran
Between the flames that lit the sky,
Yet, for each drop, an armed man
Shall rise, to free the land, or die.

And for each corpse, that in the sea
Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds,
A hundred of the foe shall be
A banquet for the mountain birds.

Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain
To keep that day, along her shore,
Till the last link of slavery's chain
Is shivered, to be worn no more.

by William Cullen Bryant.

Song: Why Does Azure Deck The Sky?

Why does azure deck the sky?
'Tis to be like thy looks of blue.
Why is red the rose's dye?
Because it is thy blushes' hue.
All that's fair, by Love's decree,
Has been made resembling thee!

Why is falling snow so white,
But to be like thy bosom fair!
Why are solar beams so bright?
That they may seem thy golden hair!
All that's bright, by Love's decree,
Has been made resembling thee!

Why are nature's beauties felt?
Oh! 'tis thine in her we see!
Why has music power to melt?
Oh! because it speaks like thee.
All that's sweet, by Love's decree,
Has been made resembling thee!

by Thomas Moore.

The Touch Of Time

Time, who with soft pale ashes veils the brand
Of many a hope that flared against the sky
To plant its heaven-storming banners high,
Has touched you with no desecrating hand;
Your beauty wins a ripeness sweet and bland
As opulent summer, and your glancing eye
Glows with a deeper lustre, and your sigh
Of love is still my clamouring heart's command.

Yet what if all your fairness were defaced,
Wilted by passionate whirlwinds, battle-scarred,
Your skin of delicate satin hard and dry?
Still you would be the laughing girl who graced
A gloomy manhood, by forebodings marred,
In the deep wood where still we love to lie.

by John Le Gay Brereton.

They Know Not My Heart

They know not my heart, who believe there can be
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower,
I could harm what I love, -- as the sun's wanton ray
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.

No -- beaming with light as those young features are,
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:
It is not that cheek -- 'tis the soul dawning clear
Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear:
As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair,
Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there!

by Thomas Moore.

When Allah Spoke

Was I not thine when Allah spoke the word
Which formed from smoke the sky?
Were not our two hearts one
When heaven heard the stars,
The first faint stars reply?
Were not our twin hearts one,
When heaven heard the stars,
The first faint stars reply?
Canst thou then doubt that while the ages roll
Our being one shall be?
As flame and light are one, so is my soul
One, o my love, with thee,
As flame and light are one, so is my soul with thee,
One with thee, One with thee.
The ebbing star floods of the Judgment day
Shall leave my heart still thine
And Paradise itself shall fade away
Ere I thy love resign.

by Arlo Bates.

I round the threshold wandering here,
Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,
That they may keep my lady prisoner.

And yet the wind was howling in the woods,
The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds,
Before the dawn had risen in the sky.

O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees!
My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth
Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!

Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake,
O'erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun
To other lands brings back the light of day!

Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves
Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun
In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.

by Count Giacomo Leopardi.

THE Sky-lark, when the dews of morn
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,
And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars, and sings.

He rests not on the leafy spray,
To warble his exulting lay,
But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstacy.

Thus, my Creator! thus the more
My spirit's wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

George Moses Horton, Myself

I feel myself in need
Of the inspiring strains of ancient lore,
My heart to lift, my empty mind to feed,
And all the world explore.

I know that I am old
And never can recover what is past,
But for the future may some light unfold
And soar from ages blast.

I feel resolved to try,
My wish to prove, my calling to pursue,
Or mount up from the earth into the sky,
To show what Heaven can do.

My genius from a boy,
Has fluttered like a bird within my heart;
But could not thus confined her powers employ,
Impatient to depart.

She like a restless bird,
Would spread her wings, her power to be unfurl’d
And let her songs be loudly heard,
And dart from world to world.

by George Moses Horton.

Hope of heaven by the resurrection of Christ.

1 Pet. 1:3-5.

Blest be the everlasting God,
The Father of our Lord;
Be his abounding mercy praised,
His majesty adored.

When from the dead he raised his Son,
And called him to the sky,
He gave our souls a lively hope
That they should never die.

What though our inbred sins require
Our flesh to see the dust,
Yet as the Lord our Savior rose,
So all his followers must.

There's an inheritance divine
Reserved against that day;
'Tis uncorrupted, undefiled,
And cannot waste away.

Saints by the power of God are kept
Till the salvation come;
We walk by faith as strangers here,
Till Christ shall call us home.

by Isaac Watts.

Lad Det Klinge Sødt I Sky

Lad det klinge sødt i Sky:
Længe leve Kongen ny,
Zions Konge, barnebly!
Nu er skeet til Jordens Held
Hvad os meldte Gabriel!
Eia, Eia!
Født er Herren af en Mø!
Vi ei fødes til at døe!
Gud med os, Immanuel!


Synger med os, alle Smaa!
Børn i Vugge! stammer paa
Hvad selv Engle knap forstaae!
Nu er skeet til Jordens Held
Hvad os meldte Gabriel!
Eia, Eia!
Født er Herren af en Mø!
Vi ei fødes til at døe!
Gud med os, Immanuel!


Lad det spørges trindt om Land:
Født er os en Frelser-Mand,
Jesus Christus hedder han!
Nu er skeet til Jordens Held
Hvad os meldte Gabriel!
Eia, Eia!
Født er Herren af en Mø!
Vi ei fødes til at døe!
Gud med os, Immanuel!

by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig.

Frelser! Under Aaben Sky

Frelser! under aaben Sky
Ved din Daab Dig saaes at giæste
Han som vil til Alles Bedste
Jordens Skikkelse fornye!
Du opnaaed din Forløber,
Ved dit Lys da blegned hans,
Vær Du, sagde han, min Døber!
Lad mig smelte i din Glands!


Alt igien var skjult med Vand,
Men derover Aanden svæved,
Op sig Verdens-Lyset hæved
Brat i Jesus, Gud og Mand,
Himlens Due kom at bygge
Hvor dens Soel holdt Morgen-Bøn,
Og Gud-Fader Sig til Lykke
Ønsked med Marias Søn!


Reent blev Vandet da paany;
Under Due-Fod tilvisse
Vie-Vand fra Herrens Isse
Sammenrandt med Røst fra Sky,
Da udsprang den Sundheds-Kilde
Fra Guds Huus paa høire Haand,
Som i sine Bølger milde
Giemmer himmelsk Liv og Aand!

by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig.

Heaven invisible and holy.

1 Cor. 2:9,10; Rev. 21:27.

Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor sense nor reason known,
What joys the Father hath prepared
For those that love the Son.

But the good Spirit of the Lord
Reveals a heav'n to come;
The beams of glory in his word
Allure and guide us home.

Pure are the joys above the sky,
And all the region peace;
No wanton lips nor envious eye
Can see or taste the bliss.

Those holy gates for ever bar
Polution, sin, and shame
None shall obtain admittance there
But followers of the Lamb.

He keeps the Father's book of life,
There all their names are found;
The hypocrite in vain shall strive
To tread the heav'nly ground

by Isaac Watts.

Oh Fairest Of The Rural Maids

Oh fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,
Were all that met thy infant eye.

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,
Were ever in the sylvan wild;
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.

The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks;
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen;
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.

The forest depths, by foot unpressed,
Are not more sinless than thy breast;
The holy peace, that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes, is there.

by William Cullen Bryant.

To The Fringed Gentian

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night.

Thou comest not when violets lean
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dressed,
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late and com'st alone,
When woods are bare and birds are flown,
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky,
Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.

by William Cullen Bryant.

From heaven descend the drops of dew,
From heaven the gracious showers,
Earth's winter aspect to renew,
And clothe the spring with flowers;
From heaven the beams of morning flow,
That melt the gloom of night;
From heaven the evening breezes blow
Health, fragrance, and delight.

Like genial dew, like fertile showers,
The words of wisdom fall,
Awaken man's unconscious powers,
Like morning beams, they strike the mind,
Its loveliness reveals;
And softly then the evening wind
The wounded spirit heals.

As dew and rain, as light and air,
From heaven instruction came;
The waste of nature to repair,
Kindle a sacred flame;
A flame to purify the earth,
Exalt her sons on high,
And train them for their second birth,
Their birth beyond the sky.

by James Montgomery.

O WORDS as clear as are the dawn sky-rifts
Between the still cloud-layers, and eke as sweet
As violets are, looking through crystal dew,
And with such melody as birds may have
That sing the morning notes where peace and joy
Are mingled all, and every thought is still —
O Words, ye come to me, a toiler here
With life-blood hurrying thro' imperilled veins,
Ye come as from a heaven, a heaven on earth,
Wherein (I know not when) ye were mine too!
Ah me, clear Words, sweet Words melodious,
Too long an unknown tongue are ye to me,
A tongue unknown too long for peace and joy.
No heaven on earth, but ever earth on heaven
I pile and dwindle piling. Pass away;
For I can linger not, nor ease my toil —
Away, and leave me with the dreadful night
And all the sadness of the voiceless stars!

by Francis William Lauderdale Adams.

'Yes, Holy Be Thy Resting Place'

Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.

And will not guardian Angles send
Kind dreams and thoughts of love,
Though I no more may watchful bend
Thy longed repose above?

And will not heaven itself bestow
A beam of glory there
That summer's grass more green may grow,
And summer's flowers more fair?

Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part
Yet, loved one, it must be:
I would not rend another heart
Not even by blessing thee.

Go! We must break affection's chain,
Forget the hopes of years:
Nay, grieve not - willest thou remain
To waken wilder tears

This herald breeze with thee and me,
Roved in the dawning day:
And thou shouldest be where it shall be
Ere evening, far away.

by Emily Jane Brontë.

Daughter of God! Audacity divine
Of clowns the terror and of brains the sign
Not thou the inspirer of the rushing fool,
Not thine of idiots the vocal drool:
Thy bastard sister of the brow of brass,
Presumption, actuates the charging ass.
Sky-born Audacity! of thee who sings
Should strike with freer hand than mine the strings;
The notes should mount on pinions true and strong,
For thou, the subject shouldst sustain the song,
Till angels lean from Heaven, a breathless throng!
Alas! with reeling heads and wavering tails,
They (notes, not angels) dropp and the hymn fails;
The minstrel's tender fingers and his thumbs
Are torn to rags upon the lyre he strums.
Have done! the lofty thesis makes demand
For stronger voices and a harder hand:
Night-howling apes to make the notes aspire,
And Poet Riley's fist to slug the rebel wire!

by Ambrose Bierce.

The day is done, the winter sun
Is setting in its sullen sky;
And drear the course that has been run,
And dim the hearts that slowly die.

No star will light my coming night;
No morn of hope for me will shine;
I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,
And I ne'er longed for joys divine.

Through life's hard task I did not ask
Celestial aid, celestial cheer;
I saw my fate without its mask,
And met it too without a tear.

The grief that pressed my aching breast
Was heavier far than earth can be;
And who would dread eternal rest
When labour's hour was agony?

Dark falls the fear of this despair
On spirits born of happiness;
But I was bred the mate of care,
The foster-child of sore distress.

No sighs for me, no sympathy,
No wish to keep my soul below;
The heart is dead in infancy,
Unwept-for let the body go.

by Emily Jane Brontë.

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee

Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now ?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall nature cease to bow ?

Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving -
Come back and dwell with me -

I know my mountain breezes
Enchant annd soothe thee still -
I know my sunshine pleases
Despite thy wayward will -

When day with evening blending
Sinks from the summer sky,
I've seen thy spirit bending
In fond idolotry -

I've watched thee every hour -
I know my mighty sway -
I know my magic power
To drive thy griefs away -

Few hearts to mortal given
On earth so wildly pine
Yet none would ask a Heaven
More like this Earth than thine -

Then let my winds caress thee -
Thy comrade let me be -
Since nought beside can bless thee
Return and dwell with me -

by Emily Jane Brontë.

Love Cannot Die

In crime and enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die,
Who say to us in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.
From heaven it came on angel's wing
To bloom on earth, eternal spring;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.

Twas born upon an angel's breast.
The softest dreams, the sweetest rest,
The brightest sun, the bluest sky,
Are love's own home and canopy.
The thought that cheers this heart of mine
Is that of love; love so divine
They sin who say in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.

The sweetest voice that lips contain,
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain,
The sweetest feeling of the heart--
There's pleasure in its very smart.
The scent of rose and cinnamon
Is not like love remembered on;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.

by John Clare.

'Oh father, let us hence--for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:--
What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'

'Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,
Has swept the broad heaven clear again.'

'Nay, father, let us haste--for see,
That horrid thing with horned brow,--
His wings o'erhang this very tree,
He scowls upon us now;
His huge black arm is lifted high;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'

'Hush, child;' but, as the father spoke,
Downward the livid firebolt came,
Close to his ear the thunder broke,
And, blasted by the flame,
The child lay dead; while dark and still,
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.

by William Cullen Bryant.

Song Of Innisfail

They came from a land beyond the sea,
And now o'er the western main
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly,
From the sunny land of Spain.
"Oh, where's the isle we've seen in dreams,
Our destined home or grave?"
Thus sung they as, by the morning's beams,
They swept the Atlantic wave.

And lo, where afar o'er ocean shines
A sparkle of radiant green,
As though in that deep lay emerald mines,
Whose light through the wave was seen.
"'Tis Innisfail -- 'tis Innisfail!"
Rings o'er the echoing sea;
While, bending to heaven, the warriors hail
That home of the brave and free.

Then turn'd they unto the Eastern wave,
Where now their Day-God's eye
A look of such sunny omen gave
As lighted up sea and sky.
Nor frown was seen through sky or sea,
Nor tear o'er leaf or sod,
When first on their Isle of Destiny
Our great forefathers trod.

by Thomas Moore.

Ode To The Cuckoo

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of Spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome ring.

What time the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear:
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fli'st thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No Winter in thy year!

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.

by John Logan.

Nu Ringer Alle Klokker Mod Sky

Nu ringer alle Klokker mod Sky:
Det kimer i fjerne Riger.
Hver Søndag Morgen høit paany
Stor Glæde mod Himlen stiger.

Det toner med Lov og Priis og Bøn
Fra Jord mod Paradiishaven:
Det var en Søndag Morgen skjøn
Vor Frelser stod op af Graven.

For os han vandred i Gruben ned;
Han gik til de Dødes Rige.
Til Livet med stor Herlighed
Han vilde for os opstige.

Al Verdens Glæde begravet laae;
Nu frydes vi alle Dage:
Den Glæde, Søndagssolen saae,
Den har i Verden ei Mage.

Der sad en Engel paa Gravens Steen
Blandt Lillier i Urtehaven;
Han peged med sin Palmegreen
Hvor Jesus stod op af Graven.

Og der blev Glæde paa Jorderig,
Liig Glæden i Engles Himmel:
Livskongen løfter op med sig
Til Livet sin Børnevrimmel.

Guds Børn skal holde med Engle Bøn
Med Jubel i Paradiishaven:
Det var en Søndag Morgen skjøn
Vor Frelser stod op af Graven.

by Bernhard Severin Ingemann.

The sight of God and Christ in heaven.

Descend from heav'n, immortal Dove,
Stoop down and take us on thy wings,
And mount and bear us far above
The reach of these inferior things:

Beyond, beyond this lower sky,
Up where eternal ages roll;
Where solid pleasures never die,
And fruits immortal feast the soul.

O for a sight, a pleasing sight
Of our Almighty Father's throne!
There sits our Savior crowned with light,
Clothed in a body like our own.

Adoring saints around him stand,
And thrones and powers before him fall;
The God shines gracious through the man,
And sheds sweet glories on them all.

O what amazing joys they feel
While to their golden harps they sing,
And sit on every heav'nly hill,
And spread the triumphs of their King!

When shall the day, dear Lord, appear,
That I shall mount to dwell above,
And stand and bow amongst them there,
And view thy face, and sing, and love?

by Isaac Watts.

A Poet's Atlantis

Away! away! we will sail the sea,
To find some sweet and flowery isle,
In the waste of waters, far and free
From worldly grief and worldling's guile;
Where the earth blooms ever fair beneath,
The smile of a genial sky above,
There no more the bitter sigh to breathe,
But in bowers of bliss to live and love!

O! may our barque, with favouring gale,
A haven reach on such a shore,
Like the Edens traced in eastern tale,
Or the fairly lands of fabled lore;
Where life would be one delicious dream
Of the after bliss we hope above,
Reflecting, like some stainless stream,
The hues of heaven, the light of love!

Without regard, and without regret,
We'll quit all we have valued here,
Our wrongs forgive, and our woes forget,
In the joy and peace of another sphere;
Where the morning breaks with an angel's smile,
And the eve descends like a dark-wing'd dove,
O! for a home in that sinless isle,
In its bowers of bliss to live and love!

by John Imlah.