Kirkjuritið - 01.04.1964, Blaðsíða 20

162
KIRKJURITIÐ
Life is no freehold, granted
To seisin or the sword;
My soul, in flesh implanted,
Was lent me by the Lord;
In his control it standeth
To claim his own anew;
Death is the slave he sendeth
To seek the Maker’s due.
Then, in God’s name, my brothers,
Since it must needs be so,
I am but as the others
Who rest in graves below.
No ransom price can aid me,
Whenever comes the call;
Yet, though the night o’ershade me,
I will not fear at all.
For sure in love abideth
My Saviour on his throne;
O’er all things he presideth,
Jesus his name alone;
Death’s victor, condescending,
Upon the cross he died,
And thus did life unending
For me, poor wretch, provide.
Death, by his death defeated,
Was overthrown and slain;
From sovereign power unseated,
To harm me ne’er again.
Though earth my flesh may cover,
My ransomed soul shall rise,
Its toils and torments over,
To bliss above the skies.