TOAST FOR THE MEN OF EIDSVOLD

(MAY 17, 1864)

"T WAS then this land of ours we drew
From centuries of ice and sorrow,

And let it of the sun's warmth borrow,
And law and plow brought order new;
We dug the wealth in mountain treasured,
Our stately ships the oceans measured,
And springtime thoughts were free to run
As round the Pole the midnight sun.

And still with God we 'll conquer, hold:
Each plot reclaimed for harvest-reaping,
Each ship our sea takes to its keeping,
Each child-soul we to manhood mold,
Each spark of thought our life illuming,
Each deed to fruit of increase blooming,-
A province adds unto our land

And o'er our freedom guard shall stand.

THE NORRÖNA-RACE

(NOVEMBER 4, 1864)

NORRÖNA-RACE's longing,

It was the sea's free wave,

And fight of heroes thronging,

And honor that it gave;

Their thoughts and deeds upspringing

From roots in Surtr's fire,
With branches topward swinging
To Yggdrasil aspire.

His course alone each guided,
Oft brother-harm was done;
Our vict'ries were divided,
The honor gained was one.
Each heard his call time-fated,
First Norway, Denmark, came,
The Swede the longest waited,
But greatest grew his fame.

In eastern, western regions
The Danish dragons shone,
To Norway's roving legions
Jerusalem was known.
From sparks the Swedish spirit

Struck forth in Poland's night,
Through Lützen must inherit
Full half the world its light.

First Norseman, Dane, agreeing
In trying times were found,

But Saga's will far-seeing

By little men was bound;
Then Norseman, Swede, agreeing,
Time in its fullness found,
And Saga's will far-seeing

Shall nevermore be bound.

There is prophetic power

In longing hearts of men,
Foretells our union's hour

For great deeds once again.
Each festival so glorious

To solemn vows us draws:
Forever be victorious

Our blood's, our race's cause!

HYMN OF THE PURITANS

(FROM MARIA STUART)

ARM me, Lord, my strength redouble,

Heaven open, heed my trouble!

God, if my cause Thine shall be,
Grant a day of victory!

Fell all Thy foes now!

Fell all Thy foes now!

Roll forth Thy thunders, Thy lightning affright them, Into the pit, the bottomless, smite them,

Their seed uproot,

Tread under foot!

Send then Thy snowy white dove peace-bringing,
Unto Thy faithful Thy token winging,

Olive-branch fair of Thy summer's fruition

After the deluge of sin's punition!

HUNTING SONG

(FROM MARIA STUART)

ROUND us rolls the heather's sheen, Heather's sheen,

'Neath the falcon of our queen, Of our queen.

FOR

TAYLOR'S SONG

(FROM MARIA STUART)

OR joys the hours of earth bestow
With sorrow thou must pay.

Though many follow close, yet know,
They're loaned but for a day.
With sighing in thy laughter's stead
Shall come a time of grief,
The load of usury bow thy head,
With loss of thy belief.

Mary Anne, Mary Anne,

Mary Anne, Mary Anne,

Hadst thou not smiled upon me, thou, I were not weeping now.

May God help him who never can

Give only half his soul;

The time comes surely for that man To take the sorrow whole.

May God help him who was so glad, That he cannot forget,

Help him who lost the all he had,

But not his reason yet.

Mary Anne, Mary Anne,

Mary Anne, Mary Anne,

The flowers that my life had grown,

Died out when thou wert gone.