And what in silence being took; I love the air, when growing colder The purer sky Broadens with sense of freedom bolder. I find in forests joy the keenest When fancy plays, And not when they are young and I knew a man: in autumn clearness His even course, His heart's fine force greenest. Like autumn sky in soft-hued sheerness. His memory is, as-when a-swarming Of winter burst The gentle flame my room first warming. When all our outward longings falter, Within we find, Is friendship's feast round autumn's altar. OUR LANGUAGE (1900) THOU, who sailest Norse mountain-air, And Denmark's songs by the cradle singest, And, heard in our children's joy, gently ringest,— Our mother-tongue, In pains as in pleasures Whispering secrets that Holberg stored, Thou borest him home to a brighter morning, Didst serve him with armor and whet his sword For satire's assaults and for laughter's warning. Thou spirit all knowing, Our mother-tongue, The ages foregoing, The future now growing, We hallow thee! Kierkegaard thou to the deeps didst bring, For Wergeland wert thou the eagle's wing, That lifted him sunward to heights unbounded. Thou treasure of treasures, Our mother-tongue, In pain as in pleasures We hallow thee! Radiant warmth of a May-day Thou to the spring of our freedom gavest. With song and honor afar thou wavest. Our mother-tongue, The ages foregoing, The future now growing, We hallow thee! O'er the ocean unrollest thou Thy carpet of flowers, a bridge that nigher Can bring dear friends to meet even now,While faith grows greater and heaven higher. Thou treasure of treasures, Our mother-tongue, In pain as in pleasures Our home and our tower, With God our power,— We hallow thee! Best of friends that I found wert thou; Thou waitedst for me in the eyes of mother. And leave me last of them all wilt thou, Who knewest me better than any other. Thou spirit all knowing, Our mother-tongue, The ages foregoing, The future now growing, We hallow thee! |