Another stave church, at Kvernes, as seen by C.O. Jellema.

Translation from Dutch into English here, and into Danish here.

A poem by the Norwegian poet Rolf Jacobsen

Stave churches

I believe in the dark churches,

those that still stand like pitch-fires in the forests

bearing with them a scent as of deep-red roses

from times that maybe possessed more love.

The soot-black towers I believe in, those with a sun-burnt smell

and ancient incense in-branded by centuries.

     Laudate pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.

Axes dubbed them and silver bells rang in them.

Someone carved them with dreams, gave them wings to roam with

through ages and mountains. They break like billows around them.

Now they are ships, with crow’s nests toward the East Indies,

Santa Maria, Pinta and Niña when the days darkened

near the world’s end, years away from Andalusia.

     Laudate pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.

Fear everywhere, even Columbus is frightened now

that mirages seek to entice them and the wind’s the hissing of serpents.

The stars stare immovably down with iron eyes of madness,

all the days are evil, all hope of rescue is gone, we though keep

sailing, sailing, sailing.

     Laudate pueri Dominum, laudate nomen Domini.

A recent poem by Hester Knibbe

Let us set fire to

the old letters, see all the beautiful

rain-sodden sun-bleached words and lines

go up in flames while unashamedly

retaining their content. We have

known happiness, oh how we have known –

              Let us

explore before long other cities, through new

streets with musicians and sleepers on benches

stroll, grow accustomed depart.

              Let us

eat there drink and give

the singer enough for him to get drunk

the beggar what is his due.

To see the original and hear Hester Knibbe read the poem aloud, go to here.

Another highly pietistic hymn from Brorson

Peace in Jesu’s death we surely

Peace in Jesu’s death we surely

could and should and ought to feel.

Of this his each wound securely

serves as pledge and proof and seal.

Tell all sinners now heart-riven

Peace is here, so freely given!

Simply come, you who are sighing,

faint and tired from threat of law!

From Christ’s wounds aren’t you descrying

their true meaning is far more?

He you from your pain did sever,

So, my heart, you’re free for ever.

Now farewell to all your raging

and your thunder, Sinai!

All my pain he is assuaging,

from chastisement sets me free.

Every drop of blood that’s flowing

copious grace on me’s bestowing.

Jesus! let the soul but tarry

in your great pain’s sweet relief;

let your pierced side safely carry

all my longing, hope, belief!

Then in paradise your dying

I’ll be ever glorifying.

A poem by David Koker (1921-45)

To see this poem in translation, go to here.

At the Jewish cemetery in Prague, Oscar Levertin (1862-1906)

To see the poem in translation, go to here.

Yet one more Brorson

Who’ll accuse, indict me?

Who’ll accuse, indict me

have me tried and slight me

on Mount Sinai?

Though my sins conceding,

I to Christ am speeding,

which shall set me free.

For if tried

where Jesus died,

he will vanquish those who’d spite me,

who’ll accuse, indict me?

Who’ll condemn and curse me?

May I now immersed be

in Christ’s blood, set free.

God is judge almighty

and his verdict’s rightly:

He released shall be,

in Christ’s blood

he is made good –

Satan, sin and death dispersed be!

Who’ll condemn and curse me?

A poem by the Norwegian writer Rolf Jacobsen

THE FIREFLIES

It was that evening with the fireflies

when we stood waiting for the bus to Velletri

that we saw the old couple kissing each other

under the plane tree. It was then

you said, half into the air

half to me:

Whoever has loved long

has not lived in vain.

And it was then I caught sight of the first

fireflies in the dark, sparkling

with flashes of light around your head.

It was then.

A poem by Karin Boye

THE SEA

Salt, bitter salt

the sea is, and clear and cold.

Deep down, there’s much that moulders,

the sea though cleanses all.

Wild, beast of prey wild

is the surf in its glittering bound,

but no human thoughts have ever

the sea-song’s full-bodied sound.

Strong, endless and strong

is the mighty march of the waves,

and strong with the unending sea

each gentle transient wave.

So give your life to the sea. There’s

life-blood required of a man,

though lastly, deep in the depths, he

will gain rest that none other can.

Brorson of the day

O Holy Ghost! immensely

O Holy Ghost! immensely

my heart yearns for its home,

that precious gem,

Jerusalem,

where all which pains intensely

you grant me to disown.

O Holy Ghost! immensely

my heart yearns for its home.

But ah, those seas restraining!

How can I find a way

past reefs unseen

and currents keen

my stronghold safely gaining?

I shall though, come what may.

But ah, those seas restraining!

How can I find a way?

This thought shall quell my fearing:

I’ll soon in heaven stand.

My faith make brave

to flout each wave,

and safe the ship be steering,

you know just what I can!

This thought shall quell my fearing:

I’ll soon in heaven stand.

A poem from the just-published Cathedra sequence by Albert Hagenaars

the tombstones of saint-denis

The light of Abbot Suger, ever new, falls on

canopies and tombstones, the vacant faces

of kings. Their graves are subject to

an emptiness greater than that of life.

Further down, in the crypt, their

amassed remains now acidify, sealed

off from the viruses of a belief

more menacing, penetrating

than that of the zealot from Geneva,

the arguments of the Enlightenment

or the yapping goddess of the Revolution:

our probing of DNA, nanos and the universe.

This gleaming marble, wearing away

in staring, suggests how we too might shine,

in a glow that knows neither day nor night

for love is deep, deeper than stone is dense.

Taken from the four-language collection Cathedra, the original Dutch by Albert Hagenaars.

For more information, consult his website at www.alberthagenaars.nl

At a guess - the only hymn that includes a honey cake. By Brorson (1739).

God’s kingdom’s gospel is so sweet

God’s kingdom’s gospel is so sweet,

as honey cake its flavour;

if in one’s heart it finds a seat

where one this food can savour,

it is the soul’s own honey fare

makes light the heart and free from care

and in Christ’s eyes most pleasing.

The word so sweet for which we crave

God’s mouth and heart have given,

it is a kiss that God us gave

when to despair we’re driven,

it is the strength of God’s own heart,

a honeyed cure that makes depart

sin’s every pus-filled abcess.

If you by sin are sore oppressed

which here your soul has smitten,

this heav’nly word’s to you addressed,

come, read what has been written:

As true as God lives ever more,

he never will your sighs ignore,

but lovingly receive you.

Just place this word upon your tongue

and to your pain apply it,

you’ll move God’s heart if truly sprung

from your heart’s depths you sigh it;

in Jesu’s name accept God’s grace

and hasten to its sweet embrace

for it is granted gladly.

Come, settle like a busy bee

in this word’s meadow-flowers,

the strength within seek earnestly,

suck deep for many hours,

there honey freely is bestowed,

the blood that from Christ’s wounds once flowed

in God’s word is discovered.

You think, if you’d an upright heart

no doubt would e’er assail you,

but when you feel lust’s wicked dart

deep down, you heart will fail you,

your heart will quickly grow quite weak,

because you lack the strength you seek

to banish sin for ever.

Your greatest sin can never face

or match at any hour

the mighty kingdom of God’s grace,

his true word’s living power;

he who has faith God’s grace shall know

no matter he be high or low

or where on earth he’s living.

An Easter hymn by Brorson

Listen, you whose weeping

Listen, you whose weeping

in salt tears is steeping

where your Saviour lies,

banish tears and sadness,

now come days of gladness,

joy and peace your prize!

He aright

has used full might

all death’s shields to break and shatter,

and completely scatter.

He has risen truly

from the dead, will duly

greet triumphantly;

angels you can find there

nothing else remains where

his grave used to be.

Your gaze stay

on where he lay!

There you should all pain be flinging

that your heart was wringing!

Come, draw nearer, merely

bury all that nearly

made your courage fail!

To his flock make haste now,

tell with joyful words how

he has made death quail!

Say to each

who’s fearful, teach

each disciple, from death’s prison

Jesus Christ is risen!

Tell your heart stop fretting,

be its pain forgetting,

there’s no need for dread;

He has quenched the fire,

risen to inspire,

Jesus, who was dead.

He broke free,

his bride may she

likewise all her foes be smiting,

be in God delighting.

If your sins are many,

Christ says: every penny

of the debt is paid.

Anger off is driven,

grace now freely given,

be no more dismayed;

Jesus died,

and swept aside

all death’s wrath and tribulation

for your sole salvation.

Sin, can you but glower?

Hell, where is your power?

Death, where is your sting?

Christ is fully glorious,

I am now victorious,

them he down did fling!

God, who gave

at Jesu’s grave

us this victory amazing,

we will e’er be praising.