The Bier Of Precentor A. Reitan (1872)

(See Note 56)     With smiles his soft eyes ever gleamed,      When God and country thinking;     With endless joy, his soul, it seemed,      Faith, fatherland, was linking.         His word, his song,         Like springs flowed strong;     They fruitful made the valley long,      And quickened all there drinking.     Poor people and poor homes among      In wintry region saddest,     In Sunday's choir he always sung,      Of all the world the gladdest:         "The axis stout         It turns about,     Falls not the poorest home without,      For thus, O God, Thou badest."     With sickness came a heavy year      And put to proof his singing,     While helpless children standing near      His trust to test were bringing.         But glad the more,         As soft notes soar     When winds o'er hidden harp-strings pour,     His song his soul was winging.     His life foretold us that erelong      With faith in God unshaken     Shall all our nation stand in song,      And church, home, school, awaken,         In Norway's song,         In gladness' song,     In glory of the Lord's own song,     From life's low squalor taken.     Fair fatherland, do not forget,      The children of his bower!     He, poor as is the rosebush, yet      Gave gladness till death's hour -         With failure's smart         Let not depart     From this thy soil so glad a heart, -     His garden, let it flower!