Wednesday 31 December 2014
Monday 29 December 2014
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.
Sunday 28 December 2014
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.
Friday 26 December 2014
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.
Tuesday 23 December 2014
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.
Saturday 20 December 2014
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.
Wednesday 17 December 2014
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.
Sunday 14 December 2014
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!
Tuesday 9 December 2014
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,
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?
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
We should through our rejoicing
Ensure God’s grace is
glorified,
With art and zeal be voicing;
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.
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