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Updated: June 18, 2025


At those who do not lay by their tools in good time he throws pebbles, crying to each, "Skynde dig!" And when the bells begin, should any man fail to bow to the church as the custom is, the Kyrkegrim snatches his hat from behind, and he sees it no more. Nothing displeases the Kyrkegrim more than when people fall asleep during the sermon. This will be seen in the following story.

"His soul is in my charge," sighed the good priest, "and I cannot even make him hear what I have got to say. A heavy reckoning will be demanded of me!" "The sermons are in fault, beyond a doubt," the Kyrkegrim said. "The farmer's wife is quite right. She's a sensible woman, and can use a mop as well as myself." "Hoot, hoot!" cried the church owl, pushing his head out of the ivy-bush.

This was an uncommon beginning, and most of the good folk pricked their ears, the farmer among them, for novelty is agreeable in church as elsewhere. "I speak," said the Kyrkegrim, "of that which is the last result of sin, the worst of deaths, and the beginning of judgment hardness of heart." The farmer looked a little uncomfortable, and the Kyrkegrim went bravely on.

"Next Sunday," said the Kyrkegrim to the priest, "preach about something which concerns every one; respectable people as well as others." So the preacher preached of Death whom tears cannot move, nor riches bribe, nor power defy. The uncertain interruption and the only certain end of all life's labors!

"Surely," replied the farmer, "we must all die some day, and one does not need a preacher to tell him that. But it was a funeral sermon, my wife thinks. There has been bereavement in the miller's family." "Men are a strange race," thought the Kyrkegrim; but he went to the priest and said "The farmer is not afraid of death. You must find some subject of which men really stand in awe."

"Let us seek examples in Scripture. We will speak of Pharaoh." But when the Kyrkegrim spoke of Pharaoh the farmer was at ease again. And by-and-bye a film stole gently before his eyes, and he nodded in his seat. This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up his place, and yet a Niss may not break his word. "Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh," he cried.

"He is not bound to find ears as well as arguments," retorted the owl, and he drew back into his ivy-bush. "The farmer must be roused somehow," said he. "It is a disgrace to us all, and what, in all the hundreds of years I have been Kyrkegrim, never befell me before. It will be well if next Sunday you preach a stirring sermon on some very important subject."

Once upon a time there was a certain country church, which was served by a very mild and excellent priest, and haunted by a most active Kyrkegrim. Not a speck of dust was to be seen from the altar to the porch, and the behavior of the congregation was beyond reproach. But there was one fat farmer who slept during the sermon, and do what the Kyrkegrim would, he could not keep him awake.

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