Poems of Johan Erik Rosenberg

Poems by the famous Swedish American immigrant
Johan Erik Rosenberg
(1863-1947)©

Work for the Night is Coming	The Autumn Leaves' Funeral Song
Safe in His Care	My Friend
A Midnight Dream	A Vision
My Childhood's Home	What Joy with my Saviour to be

Johan Erik Rosenberg was born 1863 in Nora, Sweden with the name Johan Erik Norberg. Shortly before emigrating to Pennsylvania Johan changed his surname to Rosenberg. Once in Pennsylvania he stayed for a time with his brother Charles Norberg who lived in Renovo and worked for the railroad. Shortly thereafter Johan accepted employment with General Electric and made his home in Erie. In 1887 he married another Swedish immigrant, Anna Marie Eriksson, from Kvibille near Halmstad, Halland lan. His earliest known poem was written in 1888 and off and on throughout the years until the day of his death Johan continued to write poems and essays seeing his work published in many of the Swedish, American, and even some German and Spanish periodicals. Email ab735@acorn.net for more information about "The Poems of Johan Erik Rosenberg" to be published in 1998.

Work for the Night is Coming ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

Lord, make me faithful,
Obedient ever,
I humbly pray,
That I may serve Thee,
Adore and love Thee
Each passing day.

Give grace and strength, Lord,
To work and labor
While yet is day,
To help some brother
Who falls and Stumbles
Upon the way.

O, give me power
To tell the story
Of Thy great love,
That some poor sinner
May find, while journeying,
A home above.

In They great vineyard
Is much of labor
Yet to be done,
And many lost ones
For Thy great kingdom
May yet be won.

Lord, may I serve Thee
With all my talents
While I am here.
The gospel message
To every creature
I'll gladly bear.

Soon life is over,
The days are passing
So swiftly by.
O, may we hasten
To go Thy errands
Before we die.

Johan Erik Rosenberg (1863-1947) of Erie, Pennsylvania, originally published Work for the Night is Coming in The Lutheran Companion, p. 1129.

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Safe in His Care ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

Over woodland and meadows, with soft falling snow,
A beautiful garment is spread;
The grasses and flowers so quietly sleep
In their cozy and warm wintry bed.

Ah! Little they know of the dark stormy days
And the winds that sweep over the tomb;
They rest so securely and peacefully sleep
Undisturbed by earth's tempests and gloom.

And the dear little children who trust in the Lord
Are the beautiful flowers of his care;
Protected from harm and from danger and sin,
They bloom in his garden so fair.

And when at life's close, our labors all done
We shall rest as the ages roll by,
Till the Master shall call us forever to dwell
With him in the mansions on high.

A white shining robe and a crown shall be given
To all who endure to the end;
In gardens celestial forever we'll roam
With Jesus our Saviour and Friend.

Johan Erik Rosenberg (1863-1947) of Erie, Pennsylvania, originally published Safe in His Care in Skandia, Jamestown, NY.

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A Midnight Dream ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

Late at midnight I sat thinking
Over many friends of your,
And fantastic dream nymphs brought me
Home to native land once more-
To a noiseless, moon lit river
In a deep and pathless wood,
Where a hoary, mossy ruin
Of my childhood's cottage stood.

In the fir trees and the birches
Zephyrs murmured as of old,
Many quaint and curious legends
From an ancient time they told,
When my youth's sweet morning flowers
Hear in beauty blossoms stood,
And I, full of joy, sat dreaming
In this wild, green summer wood.

Deep I sank in meditation
O'er a by gone friend of yore
By whose side I've often wandered
Here upon the nightly shore.
Pure as snow on cloud capped mountains,
Lovely as a rose in June,
Like a dove's sigh in the forest
Sounded here her silver tune.

Now a strange and lonely pilgrim
Sadly here alone I roam,
Where my brightest days expired
In my charming childhood's home-
Where I spent so many hours
Full of happiness and bliss,
And beneath this shady fir tree
Stole from her the first sweet kiss.

And the midnight wind I questioned:
"Sweet, soft wind, I pray you, tell
Where to find that distant Eden
And that lovely, sunny dell
Where she dwells, my little angel,
Whom I now am dreaming o'er.
Shall I there, within that kingdom,
Clasp her tiny hands once more?"

And from mountains, woods and valleys
Which her little feet have trod
Comes in chorus back an answer
That beyond the earthly sod
At transfiguration morning
I shall meet my friend of yore,
And in happiness and grandeur
Dwell with her for evermore.

Written for the Globe.

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My Childhood's Home ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

In icy north amid the wintry regions,
Where cloud-capped mountains lift their snowy heads
Through foggy air and mist, high toward heaven,
Where wood-brooks dance upon the forest's beds,
There stood my home, and fir-trees twined thereover;
Deep shady arches for the stormy days,
And Northern light with grandeur and with beauty
Through frosty branches pierced with silvery rays.

Here was my cradle, rocked beneath the pine trees;
My lullaby the icy North gale sung;
And o'er my head in black and grave-like darkness
The cloudy heavens like a midnight hung.
By cataracts and smiling mountain waters,
Deep in the wild, untrodden century's wood,
With happy dreams at noon-lit midnight hours
In meditation deep I often stood,

And here it was I learned to love my home-land,
To name it with the mighty mother tongue.
Yes, here I sat in flowery summer valleys
And listened to the warbling robin's song.
And when the midnight son 'mongst purple clouds
Had set at last in golden, crimson west,
On grassy meadows, under starry heaven,
Beneath the vernal trees I lay to rest.

O, ice-covered North! With mountains, wood and valleys,
Land of the midnight sun I will behold!
My childhood's home! I never shall forget thee,
O, land of glory, precious more than gold.
Wherever I around the world my wander,
The frosty North my Eden yet shall be;
If tossed adrift by Fate's wild heaving billows,
I know a resting place where I am free.

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The Autumn Leaves' Funeral Song ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

When day has vanished and night is near
From woods and valleys a sigh I hear-
A mournful whispering, sand and low,
Where October winds so fiercely blow.

Is it the wood nymph that mourns so deep
When all nature is rocked in sleep
And dusky midnight has spread its wings
So quietly over all slumbering things?

No answer cometh, but still I know
What mourns and murmurs and whispers so.
From days of youth I remember well
That sad, deep sigh in the woody dell.

It is the autumn leaves' funeral song
Which drearily sounds through the midnight long,
And summer flowers which are going to sleep,
In mossy graves in the forest deep.

Written for the Globe.

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My Friend ©

by Johan Erik Rosenberg

I know that He died on the cross for my sin,
I know that He loves me forever.
He has told me so oft, in his sweet tender voice,
I shall leave thee, never, no never.

On my friend and his word I can always depend,
I know he will never deceive me.
In sorrows and trouble, whatever may come,
He never, no never, will leave me.

Such a wonderful friend, I have found for my guide,
And always He lingers close near me
When in danger and want, I may call upon Him,
He is ready to help, and He hears me.

And this beautiful Friend is my Saviour-I know
That in Him I am saved and secure,
With Him as my leader, adviser and guard,
I this world's stormy life shall endure.

Johan Erik Rosenberg, 349 E. Ninth Street, Erie, Pa., first published in Pro…?, Vol. III. No. 3., May 21, 1907, p.2.

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A Vision ©

by Johan Rosenberg

At a dusky midnight hour,
In a deep and silent wood,
Hid by withered fern and laurels
By a little brook I stood.
In the trees were night birds calling,
Sweetly sounded silver tune,
And I then recalled with gladness
Many brilliant days in June.

Jubilant on wings of longing,
Far across a stormy sea,
To a friend, for long years absent,
Snow-white clouds had lifted me,
And a dream-like beauties angel-
Now upon my sight appeared,
And before this heavenly vision
I rejoiced, but also feared.

O, how well I recognized her!
It was she, my childhood's bride,
Who had come from far off regions
Once more to her lover's side-
To this woodland, where the flowers
Now had withered, browned and died.

Oh, her look was full of sadness,
In her blue eye danced a tear,
And with grief my heart was beating,
When to me she came more near.
Out I stretched my arms to fold her
To my bosom-but I feared
She would now no more recall me;
As I grasped, she-disappeared.

Johan Rosenberg, Sept. 13, 1890 Erie, Pa., published in Jamestown, New York, Skandia, Sept. 27, 1935, p. 2.

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by Johan Erik Rosenberg

If I only had known what joy and what bliss
It is with my Saviour to be,
I had come to my beautiful friend long ago,
Who hath made me so happy and free.

Had I only believed that his sayings were true,
And the promise which so often I heard,
I Had been in his pasture of grace long ago,
And fed on his life-giving word.

Had I only believed that this "small little voice"
Was my Saviour's that pleaded with me,
The reply would have been: "My Lord here am I;
Thou has bought me, I belong unto Thee."

Oh, what peace in my soul, oh, what joy in my heart,
O, what wonderful love I have seen,
Since I gave up myself, my pride and my all,
To the lowly and meek Nazarene.

Soon the morning shall come, when in glory on high
I shall see him, my Bridegroom so fair,
And with him in that holy, celestial home
I shall reign in eternity there.

Johan Erik Rosenberg, Erie, Pa.

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For a Swedish poem by Johan E. Rosenberg look at Vastmanland.

Read a letter from Johan's daughter Ruth.