Hear, Smith of the Heavens.

There is something incredibly fascinating about the mysterious North. There is something that is awakened in one's soul when one thinks of the icy seas and the dangerous winters of the untamable North. One finds it hard to believe that Trolls, Goblins and Dragons did not really exist there (yet one must admit that if those strange creatures ever did exist it must have been there).

Many Modern people have had this fascination with the North; with its myths, language and ancient culture. Unfortunately some of these people express this fascination by becoming Neo-Pagans. These people have forgotten the history of the Northmen. They have forgotten that the Northmen, for a while, conquered the Christian lands and people but in the end the Christians conquered their hearts. They forget the Scandinavian people were deeply grateful for the gift of salvation and for many centuries were most loyal sons of the Church.

Erik the Red and his son Lief Erikson are fine examples of Vikings that forsook their pagan ways to live the life that Christ demands of all people. One other less known Christian Viking Chieftain was Kolbeinn Tumason.

Like many other people of power in the middle ages Kolbeinn used his influence to get men in his favor appointed bishops and other powerful roles in the clergy. One such was the bishop Guðmundur. This choice proved bad for Kolbeinn because this bishop became a staunch advocate for clerical independence. The two eventually clashed and even fought a battle against each other.

Even with his battling of Bishops, Kolbeinn was a devout Catholic and wrote a poem on his deathbed that was later turned into a hymn. This beautiful poem captures the Northern Catholic spirit.

Heyr, himna smiður,

hvers skáldið biður.

Komi mjúk til mín

miskunnin þín.

Því heit eg á þig,

þú hefur skaptan mig.

Eg er þrællinn þinn,

þú ert drottinn minn.

Hear, smith of the heavens,

what the poet asks.

May softly come unto me

thy mercy.

So I call on thee,

for thou hast created me.

I am thy slave,

thou art my Lord.

Guð, heit eg á þig,

að þú græðir mig.

Minnst þú, mildingur, mín,

mest þurfum þín.

Ryð þú, röðla gramur,

ríklyndur og framur,

hölds hverri sorg

úr hjartaborg.

God, I call on thee

to heal me.

Remember me, mild one,[1]

Most we need thee.

Drive out, O king of suns,

generous and great,

human every sorrow

from the city of the heart.

Gæt þú, mildingur, mín,

mest þurfum þín,

helzt hverja stund

á hölda grund.

Send þú, meyjar mögur,

málsefnin fögur,

öll er hjálp af þér,

í hjarta mér.

Watch over me, mild one,

Most we need thee,

truly every moment

in the world of men.

send us, son of the virgin,

good causes,

all aid is from thee,

in my heart.