Monday, 4 November 2013

On Kingo's death Dorothe Engelsbretsdatter wrote this poem

Simple female remembrance
of the widely famous poet
whose sorrowful demise
many quick minds do regret

                  So testifies
                  this simple-minded poetess

Ah! Kingo is but dust again,
                  Who wrote hymns so ensnaring!
That he for his praiseworthy pen
                  In heaven palms is bearing;
Such blissful words: of great address,
                  In song and lamentation
That many a limb cured from distress –
                  Yet dust is now his station.
The troubled solace-thirsting soul
                  Your spirit, hand can quicken!
This the remorse-crushed reed makes whole,
                  consoles the heart that’s stricken.
Adroitly me and all alive
                  The fear of God you’re teaching,
Your songs of praise good harvest give
                  We laud God through your preaching.
How well! How well! did you employ
                  The pound God you entrusted,
The outcome clear you now enjoy
                  Your voice has upwards thrusted!
You gained a place in Sion’s choir
                  And took your seat with honour
From so much worldly ill that’s sired
                  Midst sin and grief: and gone were
Your great high office rank and state,
                  A sad end to your story,
You now have charge o’er things more great,
                  And risen to high glory.
You faithful worker, you gain there
                  Reward for all your labour
And can life’s crown in peace now bear
                  Delights forever savour!
Full rest and peace and joy you’ve found,
                  Off former unrest shaken,
You sleep until the trump shall sound
                  and from the grave awaken.
Devout, with spirit’s solace filled
                  You knew the art of prayer
Though death your sweet voice may have stilled
                  And great the loss we share
E’en so do choruses ring out,
                  Each Christian soul rejoices!
And all continue to sing out
                  While they have tongues and voices.
I die, and live convinced that I
                  At God’s throne shall refind you.
There shall we sing the two of us
                  What God gives us a mind to!
Hallelujah, with angels chime,
                  Triumph and great rejoicing,
We both join in when it is time:
                  Your soul, all sweetly voicing!
For heaven I the earth would leave
                  ’Mongst the devout be dwelling
And have the Saviour me receive,
                  That is my wish compelling.
Both joy and glory that ne’er cease
                  May He you now be granting:
Farewell, God’s man, you left in peace
                  And choruses I’m chanting.

No comments: