E'en as the Sibyl in Northland-dawn drew Forth from the myth-billows gliding, Told all the past, all the future so true, Sank with the lands' last subsiding,-- Prophecies leaving, eternally new, Still abiding Thus goes his spirit the Northland before,-- Though, that he sank, we have tiding,-- Visions unfolding like sun-clouds, when o'er Sea-circled lands they are riding, Northern lands' future, till time is no more, Ever guiding. FROM THE CANTATA FOR N. F. S. GRUNDTVIG (1872) His day was the greatest the Northland has seen, It one was with the midnight-sun's wonders serene: The light wherein he sat was the light of God's true peace, And that has never morning, nor night when it must cease. In light of God's peace shone the _history_ he gave, The spirit's course on earth that shall conquer the grave. Might of God's pure peace thus our _fathers'_ mighty way Before us for example and warning open lay. In light of God's peace he beheld with watchful eye The people at their work and the spirit's strivings high. In light of God's pure peace he would have all learning glow, And where his word is honored the "Folk-High-Schools" must grow. In light of God's peace stood 'mid sorrow and care For Denmark's folk his comfort, a castle strong and fair; In light of God's pure peace there shall once again be won And thousand-fold increased, what seems lost now and undone. In light of God's peace stands his patriarch-worth, The sum and the amen of a manful life on earth. In light of God's pure peace how his face shone, lifted up, When white-haired at the altar he held th' atoning cup. In light of God's peace came his word o'er the wave, In light of God's pure peace sound the sweet psalms he gave. In light of God's pure peace, as its sunbeam curtains fall To hide him from us, stands now his memory for all. AT A BANQUET FOR PROFESSOR LUDV. KR. DAA (See Note 58) Youthful friends here a circle form, Elder foes now surrender. Feel among us in safety, warm, Toward you our hearts are tender. Once again on a hard-fought day Hero-like you have led the way, Smiting all that before you stood;-- But now be good! With no hubbub, without champagne, Dress-suit, and party-collar, We would honor o'er viands plain Grateful our "grand old scholar"! When all quiet are wind and wave, Seldom we see this pilot brave;-- When storm-surges our ship might whelm, He takes the helm! --Takes the helm and through thick and thin (Clear are his old eyes burning), Steers the course with his trusty "grin," Straight, where the others are turning! Thanks gave to him I know not who, For he scolded the skipper, too!-- Back he went to his home right soon: We had the boon.