2014 - a year when Danes got het up about 1864 - among other things

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A poem by the German Romantic poet Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866)

Flügel! Flügel! Um zu fliegen

Über Berg und Tal.

Flügel! Um mein Herz zu wiegen

Auf des Morgens Strahl.

Flügel übers Meer zu schweben,

Mit dem Morgenrot,

Flügel, Flügel übers Leben

Über Grab und Tod.

Wings! oh wings, on which to sway

Over hill and dale.

Wings! So that on morning’s ray

Calm my heart can sail.

Wings to soar above all strife,

Far above dawn’s wave,

Wings, oh wings above this life

High o’er death and grave.

Ever-topical poem by Ludvig Holberg (1684-1754)

Til borgmesteren, der netop havde

Overstaaet en alvorlig sygdom

Vi gratulerer dig til din genvundne Helse!

Da du for Døden laa bad alle for din Frelse.

Grund havde vi dertil. Vi alle bange var,

din Efterfølger blev en endnu større Nar.

To the mayor, who had just

got through a serious illness

On your recovered health we would congratulate you!

When at death’s door we prayed that life might reinstate you.

For this we had good reason. All of us did dread

we’d get an even greater ninny in your stead.

A poem by Victor Vroomkoning about Olivier Messiaen

Olivier Messiaen

Suffered from synaesthesia,

illness and imagery

at the same time, heard colours

like the first bird

that saw reflected

green when the wind stroked

audibly across the waters,

first music imitated

by his throat.

The wind sang green,

green sang the nightingale

green stroke the violins

of Messiaen, sweet-beaked

among the creators.

Saw the colours which his

fellow-creatures sang, fed them

into flute, piccolo, triangle,

recreated the lark,

rebreathed the first sigh.

A last Christmas hymn for this year - Grundtvig's 'Dejlig er den himmel blå'

Lovely is the sky of blue

Lovely is the sky of blue,

fair it is to gaze on too,

where the golden stars gleam brightly

where they smile, invite us nightly

to ascend to them on high,

to ascend to them on high.

In the depths of Christmas night

when each star had dimmed its light,

all at once one star amazing

high in heaven’s vault was blazing

like a tiny star-like sun,

like a tiny star-like sun.

That this star so soft and bright

showed itself at dead of night

was indeed the legend’s sequel

that a king who had no equal

one day would be born on earth,

one day would be born on earth.

Wise men from far Eastern clime

set out without wasting time

for to find this king of story

and adore this king of glory,

born that very midnight hour,

born that very midnight hour.

Bethlehem was where he lay,

there they found him on the hay,

graced with neither crown nor sceptre,

only a poor woman sat there,

rocked the baby in her lap,

rocked the baby in her lap.

’Twas the star the wise men led

to Lord Jesu’s lowly bed,

we too have a star to guide us,

if we keep it close beside us,

we will come to Jesus Christ,

we will come to Jesus Christ.

This mild star as bright as day

which can never lead astray

is his holy revelation,

granted as our inspiration,

as a light to guide our feet,

as a light to guide our feet.

A surprising tercet by Schack von Staffeldt

I Vreden rejste sig hans Hovedhaar som Taarne,

Hans Næse steg, hans Vom, hans Røst sig hæved -

Kun een Ting hang, som altid, paa den Høivelbaarne.

Such wrath: his hair stood quite on end from the exertion,

His voice, his nose and belly rose together -

But one thing hung, as always, on his noble person.

Another contender for the top Danish Christmas hymn. This one by Grundtvig (borrowing heavily from Brorson)

It is a wondrous story

It is a wondrous story

and strange if pondered deep

that God’s realm’s future glory

must in a manger sleep,

that heaven’s light and splendour,

the living word for sure,

shall homeless ’mongst us wander

as poorest of the poor!

A nest has e’en the sparrow

where it can built a home,

nor needs the fleeting swallow

for night-time shelter roam.

The beasts need know no anguish,

in caves there’s rest in store,-

Shall then my Saviour languish

upon some stable’s straw?

No, come, I will throw open

my heart, my soul and mind,

yes, sing, sigh, prayers have spoken,

Come, Jesus, come and find!

It is no unknown chamber,

you bought it with your blood!

Here will you sweetly slumber

in love now swathed for good.

And perhaps the best-known Danish Christmas hymn 'Dejlig er Jorden', text by B.S. Ingemann

Fair is creation

marvellous God’s heaven,

blest the souls in their pilgrim throng.

Through realms of earthly

loveliness onward

we go to paradise with song!

Ages lie waiting,

ages quick in passing,

generations that form a throng.

Music from heaven

never falls silent

in this the soul’s glad pilgrim song

Angels first sang it

to the wond’ring shepherds,

sweet was from soul to soul its sound:

Peace and rejoicing

be to all people,

for us a saviour now is found!

Another Brorson Christmas classic: 'Mit hierte altid vanker'

My heart is always roaming

My heart is always roaming

Where once the Christ child lay,

And on that stable homing

My thoughts collect each day.

A refuge for soul’s fretting,

My faith’s most treasured seat,

I’ve no way of forgetting

You Christmas night so sweet.

My heart’s delight and palace

Shall you, dark stable, be,

Where each day I gain solace

From earth’s cruel mockery,

Best weigh there free from danger

The nature of my praise

When thoughts of Jesu’s manger

So set my heart ablaze.

But, ah! What shall I utter

When thinking with a sigh

That heaven’s Lord in but a

Poor manger had to lie,

That heaven’s joy and splendour,

God’s word of precious worth,

Derision now engender

Upon this wretched earth!

A pearl that’s lost with zeal is

Sought out until it’s found,

The diamond’s bright appeal is

Best seen atop a crown,

No grape is thrown down surely

’Mongst branches that are dry:

Shall I see God then poorly

In some mean stable lie?

Why not in halls appointed

With all that’s fine and grand?

(They had, if you’d but pointed,

Been decked at your command)

Why would you not be swathed in

Bright light that formed a band,

And let earth’s kings come craving

To kiss you by the hand?

Why did you keep from raising

A welkin as your tent,
And have star-torches blazing,

Oh hero, heaven-sent?

Why was not on display too

A guardian angel host,

That in silk quilts would lay you,
As did befit you most?

No! Jesu’s bed’s a stable

At this good Christmastide,

Where beggars if they’re able

From winter’s cold will hide,

And all the hay he lay in

Was meant for beasts alone,

He did not have a say in

A thing to call his own.

It is beyond all reason

That Jesus, God and man

This vale of woe as prison

Must suffer for a span,

He, who will judge for ever

The living and the dead,

Has got no place whatever

Where he can lay his head.

A nest has e’en the sparrow,

A safe place to call home,

Nor needs the fleeting swallow

For night-time shelter roam.

Nor does a lion know anguish,

Its cave has rest in store;

Shall then my Saviour languish

On some strange stable’s straw?

Ah! Come! I will throw open

My heart, my soul and mind,

A thousand sighs have spoken,

Come, Jesus, come and find!

It is no unknown chamber,

You bought it with your blood!

Here will you sweetly slumber

In my heart swathed for good.

Your resting-place so holy

Shall strewn with palm-sprigs lie,

My bridegroom, for you solely

I will both live and die.

Come! let my soul find bliss in

The fount to which it’s wed,

A thousand times be kissing

Your sweet mouth rosy red.

Time for a Brorson Christmas hymn!

At this sweet feast of Christmastide

At this sweet feast of Christmastide
We should through our rejoicing

Ensure God’s grace is glorified,
With art and zeal be voicing;

Through him, so humbly born that night,

With our soul’s every strength and might

Our spirits will be waking ,

Your praise shall ring out, Saviour dear,

So all the world will hear it clear,

The earth itself be shaking.

This infant child of David’s root,

Yet Lord of all creation,

Came down from heaven to commute

The sins of every nation,

He found it hard to bear the thought

This world might well be brought to nought,

His heart it filled with anguish,

He thus forsook his heavenly crown

And in great love to earth came down

To where in pain we languish.

We offer you our thanks profound,

Though they can ne’er repay you,

Our Hallelujahs shall resound,

Hosannas likewise praise you;

Within our camp God’s ark we see!

With joy we sing of victory

That will our hearts be cheering,

We sing of that sweet peace ahead,

That hell shall quake in mighty dread,

Our Christmas hymn when hearing.

God’s wrath we need no longer fear,

Of this we have assurance,

Since for our sins his son when here

Must suffer past endurance,

Both far and wide may it be known

God for our sake his son sent down

To peril, pain and dying,

Who would not then most happy be,

In Jesu’s mercy gladly see

At last his sorrows lying?

As blackest night must fade at day,

When sun’s rays glitter brightly,

So too my sorrows fall away

When I consider rightly:

That God Almighty fervently

Has loved me since eternity,

And has become my brother,

The words I never shall forget

That, sung by angels, ring out yet:

On earth peace with each other!

And though my song of joy be gripped

By deepest sighs and weeping

The cross’s hard constraint my lips

Will ne’er prevent from speaking;

For when the heart’s an open wound,

The harp of joy can then be tuned

To make more sweet its singing,

And broken hearts best know for sure

What this great feast of joy will cure,

What happiness it’s bringing.

May God be praised, our battle’s won,

Who would still be complaining?

Who would still be oppressed and glum

While days of joy are reigning?

Sing out, God’s flock, with voices raised:

My cup is full, may God be praised!

That joy’s a wondrous story,

Let Hallelujahs now resound,

God’s son is mine, I’m gladly bound

From here to realms of glory.