That the pastor's homily turned upon,—
Is full, in its essence, of edification.
[Looks down upon the grave.
Was it he, I wonder, that hacked through his knuckle
That day I was out hewing logs in the forest?
Who knows? If I weren't standing here with my staff
By the side of the grave of this kinsman in spirit,
I could almost believe it was I that slept,
And heard in a vision my panegyric.—
It's a seemly and Christianlike custom indeed
This casting a so-called memorial glance
In charity over the life that is ended.
I shouldn't at all mind accepting my verdict
At the hands of this excellent parish priest.
Ah well, I dare say I have some time left
Ere the gravedigger comes to invite me to stay with him;—
And as Scripture has it: What's best is best,—
And: Enough for the day is the evil thereof,—[1]
And further: Discount not thy funeral.—
Ah, the Church, after all, is the true consoler.
I've hitherto scarcely appreciated it;—
But now I feel clearly how blessëd it is
To be well assured upon sound authority:
Even as thou sowest thou shalt one day reap.—
One must be oneself; for oneself and one's own
One must do one's best, both in great and in small things.
If the luck goes against you, at least you've the honour
Of a life carried through in accordance with principle.—
- ↑ "Den tid den sorg"—literally, "That time that sorrow" or
"care."
