Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,

Who on his birth-day is crowned by children and children's children,

So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron

Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the swift-changing moment,

While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet.

Also the church within was adorned, for this was

the season

In which the young, their parents' hope, and the

loved-ones of heaven,

Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism.

Therefore each nook and corner was swept and

cleaned, and the dust was

Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the

oil-painted benches.

There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions *

Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall

Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood

Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron.

Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and

the dove, washed with silver,

Under its canopy fastened, a necklace had on of wind-flowers.

But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Hörberg,†

Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of angels

*The Feast of the Tabernacles; in Swedish, Löfhyddohögtiden, the Leaf-huts'-high-tide.

The peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his altar-pieces in the village churches.

Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, out of the shadowy leaf-work.

Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling,

And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets.

Loud rang the bells already; the thronging

crowd was assembled

Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy

preaching.

Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ,

Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible

spirits.

Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his mantle,

Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth;

and with one voice

Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem

immortal

Of the sublime Wallin,* of David's harp in the

North-land

Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its powerful pinions

Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to

heaven,

And every face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor.

Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.

Father he hight and he was in the parish; a christianly plainness

Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters.

* A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly remarkable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms.

Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel

Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur

Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered grave-stone a sun-beam.

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that

faintly

Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation)

Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos,

Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man ;

Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver.

All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered.

But with a cordial look, to the right and the left