Wi saais nu i Guds urtebed,
I Guds kiere børns gaarde,
I Guds ager leggis wi hans Sæd.
Huile om vinteren hin haarde:
Naar vaaren kommer oc solen skin,
Opuoxe wi met herlighed fin,
De deilige fruct,
Til deilige fruct oc grøde.
In God’s rich soil our bed is made,
In God’s dear children’s garden,
In God’s field we his seed are laid
To rest when frosts all harden:
When spring comes and the sun does shine.
We’ll grow magnificent and fine,
The wondrous fruit,
To wondrous fruit and harvest.
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