Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Picture in the Hymn-Book by Viktor Rydberg
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With towers of gold, on the glorious sky,
And banners all rippling wide:
I heard the pinions sweeping by,
And the forms of the blest descried.
And there, and there,
I see her now,
(Serene and fair
The angel brow);
She seems to call,
To beckon me, she
Who all-in-all
Was, once, to me;
And eager I fly to the dear embrace,
And falling, I
On her bosom lie,
The fluttering heart’s sweet resting-place.
But now, ah now, the psalm was o’er.
And ended the organ’s stream;
My picture was colorless as before,
I wakened out of my dream:
Dark—cold—’twas another
Church stood there—
I miss my mother
Everywhere.
She was there, I know,
Still near the spot,
With her child, but oh!
I saw her not—
The worshipped presence hovering nigh.
And the heart, bereaved
And numb, relieved
The grief of the motherless boy in a sigh.
It was but a cloud, that came and went
(As clouds will come and depart),
With the temple’s darkness a moment blent
And that in my boyish heart.
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