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02.06.2018

Sweden

O Sweden, Sweden, Sweden, native land,
The home and haven of our longing!
The cow-bells ring where heroes used to stand,
Whose deeds are story, but with hand in hand
To swear the ancient troth thy loyal sons are thronging.
 
Fall, winter snow! And sigh, thou wood's deep breast!
Burn, all ye stars, in summer heavens peeping!
Sweden, mother, be our strife, our rest,
Thou land wherein our sons shall build their nest,
Beneath whose church-yard stones our noble sires are sleeping.
 
The heaven for height, and the earth for depth,
and the heart of kings is unsearchable. (Prov 25:3 KJV)