Here singing we must unroll Of our dear land the pictured scroll! Let calm turn to storm of wildness, Bring might into bonds of mildness: Then Norsemen mustering, each shall see This is our land's whole history. To them first our way we wing, The hundred harbors in the spring, Where follow fond love and yearning, When sea-ward the ships are turning. For Norway's weal pure prayers exhale From sixty thousand men that sail. See sloping the skerried coasts, With gulls and whales and fishing-posts, And vessels in shelter riding, While boats o'er the sea are gliding, And nets in fjord and seines in sound, And white with spawn the ocean's ground. See Lofoten's tumult grand, Where tow'ring cliffs in ocean stand, Whose summits the fogs are cleaving, Beneath them the surges heaving, And all is darkness, mystery, dread, But 'mid the tumult sails are spread. Here ships of the Arctic sea; Through snow and gloom their course must be; Commands from the masthead falling The boats toward the ice are calling; And shot on shot and seal on seal, And souls and bodies strong as steel. On mountains we now shall guest, When eventide to all brings rest, In dairy on highland meadow, On hay-field 'neath slanting shadow, While to the alphorn's tender tone Great Nature's voice responds alone. But quickly we must away, If a11 the land we would survey,-- The mines of our metal treasures, The hills of our hunters' pleasures, The foam-white river's rush and noise, The timber-driver's foot-sure poise. Returning, we linger here, These valleys broad to us are dear, Whose men in their faithful living To Norway are honor giving; Their fathers, strong in brain and brawn, Lent luster to our morning-dawn. We wander and sing with glee Of glorious Norway fair to see. Our present to labor binds us, Each how of the past reminds us, Our future shall be sure and bright, As God we trust and do the right. I PASSED BY THE HOUSE (See Note 40) I passed by the house one summer day, Morning sunshine upon it lay; Toward the windows that blood-red burned Flaming my soul was turned, was turned. There spring had found me And captive bound me To lissome hands and soft lips enthralling, To smiles now stained by the teardrops falling. Till the view from my vision dies, To it backward I send my eyes; All that was becomes new and near, The forgotten grows warm and dear; Mem'ries wander, While this I ponder, And from the springtime all love's sweet dreaming Forward and back in my soul is streaming. Joyous that time and joyous now, Sorrow that time and .sorrow now. Sun on meadows bedewed appears, Soul in mem'ries of smiles and tears. When they waking Their bounds are breaking, When streams their ebbing with sinking power, The soul bears poetry's bud and flower. THOSE WITH ME (See Note 41)