DANISH MORNING SONG.
From eastern quarters now
The sun’s up wandering;
His rays on the rock’s brow,
And hill-side squandering.
Be glad, my soul! and sing amid thy pleasure;
Fly from the house of dust,
Up with thy thanks, and burst
To heaven’s azure.
O, countless as the grains
Of sand so tiny—
Measureless as the main’s
Deep waters briny;
God’s mercy is which he upon me showeth!
Each morning in my shell,
A grace immeasurable
To me down-poureth.
Thou best does understand,
Lord God! my needing,
And placed is in thy hand,
My fortune’s speeding.
And thou foreseest what is for me most fitting;
Be still, then, O my soul!
To manage in the whole,
Thy God permitting!
May fruit the land array,
And even for eating!
May truth e’er make its way,
With justice meeting!
Give Thou to me my share with every other,
Till down my staff I lay,
And from this world away
Wend to another!
Translation of H. W. Longfellow. Thomas Kingo, 1634–1728.