The spirit that at Hj?rung broke
For thousand years the foreign yoke,
By might of king ne'er made to cower,
Defying e'en the papal power,--
The spirit that, to weakness worn,
Held free our soil with rights unshorn,
Held free, with tongue and hand combined,
'Gainst foreign host and foreign mind,--
By which our Holberg's wit was whetted,
And Wessel's sword and Wessel's pen,
And to whose silent forge indebted
The thoughts that armed our Eidsvold-men,--
The spirit that in faith so high
Through Odin could to God draw nigh,
As bridge the myth of Balder threw,
And almost found the free way new
To truth's fair home in radiant Gimle,
When this was closed and warded grimly
By monkish lies and papal speech,--
That threw a second bridge to reach
On freedom's lightly soaring arches
To heights whereon the free soul marches,--
So, when for Luther blood was shed,
The North but razed a fence instead,
--The spirit that, when men were deeming
True faith in all the world were dead,
Brun, Hauge, and their lineage spread,
From soul-springs in our nation streaming,--
Though pietism's fog now thickens,
Still guards the altar lights and quickens;--
Can _this_ they make the fashion better,
By modern bishop-synod's letter?
Is _this_ by politics provided,
When into "Chambers" 't is divided?
Can _this_ into a box be juggled
And o'er the boundary be smuggled?
And that just now when beacons lighted
On all the mountain-tops are sighted,
And when our folk-high-school's young day
The Norse heart kindles with its ray,
Renewing mem'ries, courage bringing,
While they are hearing, trusting, singing;--
Just when the deep in billows surges,
Responsive to the tempest's might,
And over it the Northern Light
Of Youth's refulgent hope emerges;--
Just when the spirit everywhere,
While walls lie low as trumpets blare,
Is breaking from the ancient forms,
And will of youth the heights now storms.
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