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will build mountains and sow the plains with the
reddest of roses; and when I am called, and my soul
trembles at the long, long journey, loath to leave
familiar scenes, then you, my Ferdinand, will be
waiting outside my window in a shining golden
chariot, drawn by birds of Paradise. My poor
anxious soul will be taken up in your chariot, and I
shall sit by your side, honored as a queen. Then
we shall ride through space past twinkling stars,
and as we come to these gardens of the heavens,
each more beautiful than the other, I shall ask in
my ignorance, ‘Is it there or there we stop?’
“You will smile to yourself and urge on the
bird-span. When we come to the smallest of worlds, but
the loveliest of all, we shall stop before a golden
palace, and you will usher me into my home of
eternal joy.
“There the larders are filled and the bookcases
too. The firwood there is not as here at Berga, for
it does not obstruct the view of the beautiful world
beyond. I can look out across sunny fields and
boundless seas, and a thousand years are as one
day.”
So died Ferdinand, entranced by bright visions
and smiling toward the glory of the future.
My shadowy friend, Death, the deliverer, had
never known any thing so blissful. True, there were
those who wept by the deathbed of Ferdinand
Uggla, but he himself smiled, when the man with
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