Hear, smith of the heavens

 Heyr himna smi∂ur (Hear! Smith of the Heavens) caught my ear while aimlessly wading through YouTube in 2016. This performance is made all the better because the recording is impromptu while a skimpy crowd gathers 'round just as our sextet conjures the 13th century Icelandic poet and chieftain Kolbeinn Tumason to the Heavens Above. What adds to its authentic charm is the clamor of the crowd, the blaring train announcement, poor acoustics and shaky camera work. The music is timeless and lovingly time-warn through the oral tradition, right? Nothing could or should be this simple or easy.
I invoke the Three Laws:

1. Things Are Always More Complicated Than They First Appear -- the music was composed by the Icelander, Porkell Sigurbjörnsson (1938-2013);
2. Things Are Different in the South -- it was recorded in a train station in Wuppertal, Germany. (south...of Iceland); and 
3. Beware the Law of Unintended Consequences. This performance has been viewed nearly 7 million times. (quite unintended).

All the same, it moves me to see the lads assemble themselves in the yellow-green light of the train concourse and send the echoes up into the rafters; sustained and magical. Why does it catch me off-guard every time and with a catch in my throat?

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.

God, I call on thee
to heal me.
Remember me, mild one,
Most we need thee.
Drive out, O king of suns,
generous and great,
human every sorrow
from the city of the heart.

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.