Around Thy throne the countless throng
At last in triumph swell the song,
When Cherubim
Shall answer Seraphim:
Holy, holy, holy art Thou, O Lord!
Although a hymn usually loses much of its original expression in translation, something of the rare beauty in Wallin’s poetry is still apparent in the following:
Where is the Friend for whom I’m ever yearning?
My longing grows when day to night is turning;
And though I find Him not as day recedeth,
My heart still pleadeth.