THE CHILD

But if in death the cold waves swallow--?

THE FATHER

Others will come; his kin will follow.

SUNG FOR NORWAY'S RIFLEMEN (1881) (See Note 73)

Fly the banner, fly the banner!

For our freedom fight!

'Neath the banner, 'neath the banner, Riflemen unite!

Graybeard in the Storting Gives his vote for right and truth, Rifle-voice supporting Of our armed youth.

Music runeful Ring out tuneful Bullets sent point-blank, Fiery coursing, Freedom forcing Way to royal rank; They from silent valleys To the Storting's rallies Bring the clear "Rah! Rah!"

And there clamors o'er us Loud the rifle chorus, Piercing and repeated: "Rah! Rah!

Rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah."

As the lingering echo rattles, Listens sure our Mother Norway, That her sons can go the war-way, Fight her freedom's future battles.

WORKMEN'S MARCH (See Note 74)

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!

Keeping time is power's token.

That makes _one_ of many, many, That makes bold, if fear daunts any, That makes small the load and lighter, That makes near the goal and brighter, Till it greets us gained with laughter, And we seek the next one after.

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!

Keeping time is power's token.

Marching, marching of few hundreds, No one heeds it, never one dreads; Marching, marching of few thousands, Here and there wakes some to hearing; Marching, marching hundred thousands,-- All will mark that thunder nearing.

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!

Keeping time is power's token.

Let us march all, never weaken Time from Vardo down to Viken, Vinger up to Bergen's region,-- Let us make _one_ marching legion, Then we'll rout some wrong from Norway, Open wide to right the doorway.

THE LAND THAT SHALL BE (DEDICATED TO HERMAN ANKER AND M. ANKER ON THE OCCASION OF THEIR SILVER-WEDDING, SEPTEMBER 15, 1888) (See Note 75)

Land that shall be Thither, when thwarted our longings, we sail,-- Sighs to the clouds, that we breathe when we fail, Form a mirage of rich valley and mead Over our need,-- Visions revealing the future until Faith shall fulfil,-- The land that shall be.

Land that shall be!

All of our labor to sow seeds of gain Grows in the ages when _our_ names shall wane, Gathered with others', 't is stored in the true Will to renew.

This then shall carry our labor within, Safely within The land that shall be.

Land that shall be!

Tears that are shed over evil's foul blight, Blood-sweat in conflict to win higher right, Hallow the will unto victory's cost.

Let us be lost, Rooting out wrong, that the good we may sow, Soon overgrow The land that shall be.

Land that shall be!

Looming in beauty of colors and song, Golden in sunlight that glad makes and strong, Present in children's eyes, looking to-day Down when you pray.

Winning good victories gives us the power To own a brief hour The land that shall be.

YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN, STRONG AND SOUND

Young men and women, strong and sound, Adorn with beautiful excess Of play and song and flower-dress Our fatherland's ancestral ground.

They dream great deeds of ages older, They long to lead to battles bolder.

Young men and women, strong and sound, Our nation's honor are, in whom Our whole life has its better bloom, Rebirth upon our fathers' ground Of them of yore. Anew there flower The old in young folks' summer-power.

Young men and women, strong and sound, Can doubly do our deeds and fill With higher hope for all we will,-- Are growth in character's deep ground, To larger life drawn by the spirit They from our forefathers inherit.

NORWAY, NORWAY (See Note 76)

Norway, Norway, Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green, Islands around like fledglings tender, Fjord-tongues with slender, Tapering tips in the silence seen.

Rivers, valleys, Mate among mountains, wood-ridge and slope Wandering follow. Where the wastes lighten, Lake and plain brighten 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.