Hallow a temple of peace and hope.
Norway, Norway,

Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,

Thee we guard, thee we guard,

Thee, our future's fair land.

Norway, Norway,

Glistening heights where skis swiftly go,
Harbors with fishermen, salts, and craftsmen,
Rivers and raftsmen,

Herdsmen and horns and the glacier-glow.
Moors and meadows,

Runes in the woodlands, and wide-mown swaths,
Cities like flowers, streams that run dashing

Out to the flashing

White of the sea, where the fish-school froths. Norway, Norway,

Houses and huts, not castles grand,

Gentle or hard,

Thee we guard, thee we guard,

Thee, our future's fair land.

MASTER OR SLAVE

Lo, this land that lifts around it

Threatening peaks, while stern seas bound it,
With cold winters, summers bleak,

Curtly smiling, never meek,

'Tis the giant we must master,
Till he work our will the faster.
He shall carry, though he clamor,
He shall haul and saw and hammer,
Turn to light the tumbling torrent,—
All his din and rage abhorrent
Shall, if we but do our duty,
Win for us a realm of beauty.

IN THE FOREST

LIST to the forest-voice murmuring low:
All that it saw when alone with its laughter,
All that it suffered in times that came after,
Mournful it tells, that the wind may know.

WHEN COMES THE MORNING? (FROM IN GOD'S WAY)

WHEN comes the real morning?

When golden, the sun's rays hover
Over the earth's snow-cover,
And where the shadows nestle,
Wrestle,

Lifting lightward the root enringèd
Till it shall seem an angel wingèd,

Then it is morning,

Real, real morning.

But if the weather is bad

And my spirit sad,

Never morning I know.

No.

Truly, it's real morning,

When blossom the buds winter-beaten,

The birds having drunk and eaten

Are glad as they sing, divining
Shining

Great new crowns to the tree-tops given,

Cheering the brooks to the broad ocean

riven.

Then it is morning,

Real, real morning.

But if the weather is bad

And my spirit sad,

Never morning I know.
No.

When comes the real morning?
When power to conquer parries
Sorrow and storm, and carries
Sun to the soul, whose burning
Yearning

Opens in love and calls to others:

Good to be unto all as brothers.

Then it is morning,

Real, real morning.

Greatest power you know
-And most dangerous, lo!-
Will you this then possess?

Yes.

MAY SEVENTEENTH

(1883)

WERGELAND's statue on May seventeenth

Saw the procession. And as its rear-guard,

Slow marching masses,

Strong men, and women with flower-decked presence, Come now the peasants, come now the peasants.

Österdal's forest's magnificent chieftain

Bore the old banner. Soon as we see it

Blood-red uplifted,

Greet it the thousands in thought of its story:
That is our glory, that is our glory!

Never that lion bore crown that was foreign,
Never that cloth was by Dannebrog cloven.
I saw the future,

When with that banner by Wergeland's column
Peasants stood solemn, peasants stood solemn.

Most of our loss in the times that have vanished,
Most of our victories, most of our longing,
Most that is vital:

Deeds of the past and the future's bold daring
Peasants are bearing, peasants are bearing.

Sorely they suffered for sins once committed,
But they arise now. Here in the Storting
Stalwart they prove it,

All, as they come from our land's every region,
Peasants Norwegian, peasants Norwegian.

Hold what they won, with a will to go farther;
Whole we must have independence and honor!
All of us know it:

Wergeland's summer bears soon its best flower,— Power in peasants, peasants in power.

FREDERIK HEGEL

I

DEDICATION

You never came here; but I go

Here often and am met by you.

Each room and road here must renew
The thought of you and your form show
Standing with helpful hand extended,
As when long since in trust and deed
My home you from my foes defended.

So often, while I wrote this book,
The light shone from your genial eye;
Then we were one, both you and I