alvation,
First fruit of the new creation,
Weary sinners' resting place,
Banner of the faith victorious,
Anchor of our hope and love,
Guide us in Thy footsteps glorious,
Bear us to Thy home above.

Or more expressive than this jubilant hymn of adoration:

O Thou blest Immanuel!
What exceeding joy from heaven
Hast Thou caused in me to dwell
By Thy life for sinners given.
Thou hast broke the bands at last
Which my yearning soul held fast.

In Thine arms I find relief,
Soon Thy home I shall inherit,
Sin and sorrow, death and grief
Nevermore shall vex my spirit.
For Thy word confirms the pledge
Of my lasting heritage.

Lord, my praise ascends to Thee
For these days of joy and sorrow;
They shall end in jubilee
On that blest eternal morrow
When the Sun of Paradise
Shall for me in splendor rise.

Rise in joyful faith, my soul!
Banish all thy grief and sadness.
Strong the stream of life shall roll
Through my heart with constant gladness.
Jesus, Who mine anguish bore,
Be now praised for evermore.

Most beautiful is also his hymn to the Lamb of God, translated by Pastor
D. G. M. Bach.

I see Thee stand, O Lamb of God,
On Zion's mountain peak.
But Oh the way that Thou hast trod,
So long, so hard, so bleak!
What Thou didst suffer for our woe,
No man can ever know.

Though Brorson made a number of excellent translations of hymns to the
Spirit such as the beautiful, "Come, Rains from the Heavens, to
Strengthen and Nourish the Languishing Field," he wrote no outstanding
Pentecost hymns of his own composition. It remained for Grundtvig to
supply the Danish church with a wealth of unexcelled hymns on the Holy
Ghost.

Aside from his Christmas hymns, Brorson's greatest contribution to
hymnody is perhaps his revival hymns, a type in which the Lutheran church
is rather poor. The special message of the Pietist movement was an
earnest call to awake, and Brorson repeated that call with an appealing
insistence and earnestness. The word of God has been sown, but where are
its fruits?

O Father, may Thy word prevail
Against the power of Hell!
Behold the vineyard Thou hast tilled
With thorns and thistles filled.
'Tis true, the plants are there,
But ah, how weak and rare,
How slight the power and evidence
Of word and sacraments.