Saturday 28 November 2020

N.F.S. Grundtvig: 'Velkommen igen, guds engle små'

Our welcome once more, angelic throng 


Our welcome once more, angelic throng,

from Heaven’s halls descending,

arrayed in pure sunlight all day long,

as down to us you’re wending!

Despite a keen frost, a year that’s strong

for birds and seeds portending.


Well met, ’neath the clouds on church paths here

where midnight snow’s still lying!

As Christmastide guests our homes revere,

on this we are relying;

Oh, shun not our door should you be near,

such hurt be us denying!


Our dwelling is low, as is our door,

just poverty resides there,

but you have as humbly dwelt before,

our thoughts of this abide there,

our bread may be dry, our clay jug poor,

but angels will not chide there.


With friendliest eyes of sky-blue hue

in beds or cradles resting,

we little ones have as fine a view

as flowers in meadows nesting;

Oh sing for all those, as larks trill too,

whose song they’re long requesting!


Of Bethlehem then their dreams will be,

although they’re scarcely able,

in dreams they the infant’s home will see –

a manger in a stable –

share Christmas with all those playfully

whose song seems like a fable. 


Then mildly they’ll wake with morning dew

and hours will cease their stealing,

and Christmastide songs we’ll hear anew

which share the heart’s true feeling,

and sweetly on high the sound breaks through

of Christmas bells’ glad pealing.


On hymn tunes God’s angels then will climb,

ascending and descending,

His peace will Almighty God sublime

to seekers then be sending;

and Heavens’ gates open, ending time,

His true realm apprehending.


Oh could we but only see such bliss

ere our eyes close for ever!

As infant cries mothers’ pangs dismiss,

may pain cease altogether.

Oh Lord God, our Christmas wish is this:

us from all grief now sever!

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