Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (8 December 1832 – 26 April 1910 / Kvikne)
At Michael Sars's Grave
Ever he would roam
Toward th' eternal home;
From the least life deep in ocean
To each gleam of stars in motion,
Worth of all he weighed.
Now the Lord lends aid.
Still he passed beyond,
Softly dreaming; fond
Nature met him as her lover.
God with strength his soul shall cover
'Mid the starry throng
Through the spheres' pure song.
Even here on earth
Harmony's sweet birth-
When discovery new truth sunders,
When the small reveals its wonders-
Filled his soul with song
For the ages long.
Where his watch he kept,
Eyes a hundred swept.
Where millenniums sand assembled,
Where the tiniest life-pulse trembled,
There he sought the clue,
Silent, wise, and true.
In a water glass
Searching he saw pass
All the ocean's life; his thinking
To unfathomed deeps was sinking;
Where lay riddles locked,
There he came and knocked.
Fair our fatherland,
While such faith shall stand!
With an eye so true and tender,
With a sense so fine for splendor
In the small and still,-
Great ends we fulfil!
Comments about this poem (At Michael Sars's Grave by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings