personal habits. Only at Christmas or on other special occasion would he
urge his household to spare nothing. He was a ceaseless and industrious
worker, giving close personal attention to the multiple duties of his
important position and office. His daily life bore eloquent witness of
his sincere piety. When at home, no matter how busy, he always gathered
his whole household for daily devotions. Music constituted his sole
diversion. He enjoyed an evening spent in playing and singing with his
family and servants. If he chanced to hear a popular song with a pleasing
tune, he often adopted it to his own words, and sang it in the family
circle. Many of the hymns in his Swan-Song are said to have been composed
and sung in that way.

His life was rich in trials and suffering. His first wife died just as he
was preparing to go to Copenhagen for his consecration as a bishop, and
the loss affected him so deeply that only the pleading of his friends
prevented him from resigning the office. He later married a most
excellent woman, Johanne Riese, but could never forget the wife of his
youth. Several of his children preceded him in death, some of them while
still in their infancy, and others in the prime of their youth. His own
health was always delicate and he passed through several severe illnesses
from which his recovery was considered miraculous. His heaviest cross
was, perhaps, the hopeless insanity of his first-born son, who throughout
his life had to be confined to a locked and barred room as a hopeless and
dangerous lunatic. A visitor in the bishop's palace, it is related, once
remarked: "You speak so often about sorrows and trials, Bishop Brorson,
but you have your ample income and live comfortably in this fine mansion,
so how can you know about these things?" Without answering, Brorson
beckoned his visitor to follow him to the graveyard where he showed him
the grave of his wife and several of his children, and into the palace
where he showed him the sad spectacle of his insane son. Then the visitor
understood that position and material comfort are no guaranty against
sorrow.

A very sensitive man, Brorson was often deeply afflicted by his trials,
but though cast down, he was not downcast. The words of his own beloved
hymn, "Whatever I am called to bear, I must in patience suffer," no doubt
express his own attitude toward the burdens of his life. His trials
engendered in him, however, an intense yearning for release, espe