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, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg,
Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angels
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from 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 of the organ,
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle,
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 mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven,
And each 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. 
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 gravestone a sunbeam. 
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 hand, the old man
Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel.

Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service,
Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. 
Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came,
Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. 
Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancel
Followed therein by the young.  The boys on the