A lighthouse stands to show the end of coast.
It is the oldest one, the one with glass
a practised eye on glass just cannot pass.
It is the lighthouse which is southern most.
Perhaps a sailor, in his worthy ship,
will look to it, and say, no matter what,
that is a light which Norway truly got.
Or otherwise, it only guides his trip.
And from within, a child perhaps, or two,
decides the lighthouse it just has to do.
Perhaps it laughs, and climbs the stairs to top.
And by the glass, which light it sees goes through,
perhaps it giggles, seeing sea anew.
And maybe then, a tear from Christ will drop.