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. WHEN COMES THE MORNING? (FROM IN GOD'S WAY) (See Note 77) _When_ comes the real morning? When golden, the sun's rays hover Over the earth's snow-cover, And where the shadows nestle, Wrestle, Lifting lightward the root enringèd Till it shall seem an angel wingèd, Then it is morning, Real, real morning. But if the weather is bad And my spirit sad, Never morning I know. No.