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For yet another long, long year Marie had to endure this
life. Then she suddenly fell ill and died. Her mind was
wandering during her illness, and the pastor could neither
pray with her nor give her the sacrament.
On a sunny day in summer they buried her at Sören’s
side, and over the bright waters and the golden
grainfields sounded the hymn, as the poor little group of
mourners, dulled by the heat, sang without sorrow and without
thought:
“Lord God, in mercy hear our cry before Thee,
Thy bloody scourge lift from us, we implore Thee;
Turn Thou from us Thy wrath all men pursuing
For their wrongdoing.
“If Thou regard alone our vile offending,
If upon us true justice were descending,
Then must the earth and all upon it crumble,
Yea, proud and humble.”
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