It now must bear aloft a hymn,

The call of God proclaiming;
Pictures of blood its lines shall limn,
Drawn bold in letters flaming,—

Its name shall be: "The Free North's Hymn!"
Of all the hymns thou voicest,
Whose glory time shall never dim,
It shall be first and choicest.

OUR FOREFATHERS

(JANUARY 13, 1864)

HIGH memories with power

Shine through the wintry North On every peak's white tower,

On Kattegat so swarth. All is so still and spacious,

The Northern Lights flow free,

Creating bright and gracious
A day of memory.

Each deed the North defending,
Each thought for greater might,
A star-like word is sending

Down through the frosty night!
To hope they call and boldness,

And call with double cheer

To him, defying coldness,

On guard the Eider near.

No anxious shadows clouding,

No languid, lukewarm mist
Our heaven of mem'ries shrouding,
This eve of battle-tryst!
May, as of yore, while ringing
The bells unseen loud swelled,
Come leaders vict'ry bringing,

Whom th' army ne'er beheld.

WHEN NORWAY WOULD NOT HELP
(EASTER EVE, 1864)

WHEN Kattegat now or the Belt you sail,
No more will you sight

The Danish proud frigate, no more will you hail
The red and white;

No more will the ringing command be heard
In Wessel's tongue,

No rollicking music, no jocund word,

'Neath Dannebrog sung.

No dance will you see, no laughter meet,
As the white sails shine,

From mast and from stern no garland you greet,
Of arts the sign.

But all that we owned of the treasures on board

The deeps now hold;

One sad winter night to the sea-waves were poured Our memories old.

It was that same night, when the frigate nigh
To Norway's land

Distress-guns was firing, the surf running high
With sea-weed and sand.

To help from the harbor men put out boats,
But they turn back, . . .

...

The frigate toward Germany drifting floats,
A broken wrack!

What once had been ours overboard was strown,
Each kinship mark

Was quickly removed, to the sea it was thrown
With curses stark!

The Northern lion, that figure-head gray,
Now had to fall,

In pieces 'twas hewn, and the frigate lay
Like a shattered wall.

Repaired and refitted, its canvas it spread
Near Germany's coast,

With black-yellow flag and an eagle dread
In the lion's post.

When sailing we Kattegat sweep with our eyes, 'Tis still evermore.

But a German admiral's frigate lies

Near Scania's shore.

(DIED OF OVER-EXERTION AS VOLUNTEER MILITARYSURGEON, 1864)

HE

gave heed to no Great Power

But the one that God we call.

Hastening on to death's high hour,
He before asked not the Gaul,
Nor the Briton, nor the others,
If he too had leave to die
In the battle of his brothers
Underneath the Danish sky.

First to act with ardor youthful,
First a strong, clear faith to show,
First to swear in spirit truthful,

First o'er death's dark bridge to go.

Knowing not, in times so trying

None would come but he alone,
Thus he struggled, death defying,
For the sacred things we own.
He of thousands here remaining
Single would the name redeem,
Sank then with his zeal unwaning

Down beneath death's silent stream.

First of souls in hope believing, Freedom's right 'gainst wrong to wield, First warm drop, full-flowing, cleaving, Of our blood on Denmark's shield.

TO THE DANNEBROG

(WHEN DYBBÖL WAS CAPTURED) DANNEBROG of old was seeming Snow-white, rosy red,

Through the mists of ages beaming,
Heaven's gift outspread,

Rich as fruits of Denmark's planting,
Grand as song of heroes chanting,
Spirit-winged to deeds of daring
O'er the wide world faring.

Dannebrog, thou now art seeming
Death-pale, bloody red,
Like a dying sea-gull gleaming

White with blood o'erspread.
Purple tides the wounds are showing
From thy faith in justice flowing;
Denmark, bear the cross, thy burden!
Honor is thy guerdon!