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.

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson was a Norwegian writer and one of the four great Norwegian writers, along with Henrik Ibsen, Jonas Lie, and Alexander Kielland. Bjørnson is recognized for his pivotal role in Norwegian literature and his works contributing significantly to Norwegian national identity. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1903 and also wrote the lyrics to the Norwegian national anthem, 'Ja, vi elsker dette landet'. Bjørnson was an influential figure in Norway's cultural and political life during his lifetime.

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

On A Wife's Death

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

At Hansteen's Bier (1873)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

Ballad Of Tailor Nils (From Arne)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

The Mother's Song (From Arne)

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson, Simple Poetry

English

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My Fatherland (From The Fisher Maiden)

        I will fight for my land,
        I will work for my land,
Will it foster with love, in my faith, in my child.
        I will eke every gain,
        I will seek boot for bane,
From its easternmost bound to the western sea wild.

        Here is sunshine enough,
        Here is seed-earth enough,
If by us, if by us all love's duty were done.
        Here is will to create;
        Though our burdens be great,
We can lift up our land, if we all lift as one.

        In the past we went wide
        O'er the sea's surging tide,
And the Norman's high walls stand on many a shore.
        But our flag flies its way
        Ever farther to-day
And is red with life's vigor as never before.

        Great our future shall be;
    ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

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 s...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

To Johan Sverdrup

(See Note 45)

When now my song selects and praises
Your forceful name, think not it raises
The rallying-flag for battle near;
The street-fight shall not reach us here.
If sacred poetry's fair hill
Lies open to assassination, -
Is this the newer revelation,
Then I withdraw and hold me still.
Then I the words of Einar borrow,
When southern change of kings brought sorrow,
And Harald's hosts their ravage spread:
I follow rather Magnus dead
Than Harald living thus, - and then
I sail away with ships and men.
Nor therefore do I lift anew
The flag of song just now for you,
Because my spirit's deepest yearning
To you for new light now is turning.
No, where the greatest questions started,
Just there it is our ways were parted -

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

To Molde

(See Note 64)

    Molde, Molde,
    True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
    Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
    Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
    Molde, Molde,
    True as a song,
    Murm'ring memories throng.

    Molde, Molde,
    Flower-o'ergrown,
Houses and gardens where good friends wander!
Hundreds of miles away, - but I'm yonder
    'Mid the roses full-blown.
Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty,
Fast is the ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Ole Gabriel Ueland

(See Note 46)

Of long toil 't is a matter
Through many a silent age,
Before such power can shatter
Time-hallowed custom's cage.
The soul-fruit of the peasant,
Though seldom seed was sown,
It is our honor present, -
Our future sure foreknown.

The fjords that earnest waited
'Mid mountain-snows around
His childhood's thoughts created
And depth of life profound.
The highlands' sun that played there
On fjord and mountain snow
So wide a vision made there
As one could wish to know.

When he to Ting repairing
Would plead the peasant's right,
Each word a beam was bearing.
To make our young day bright.
It came like ancient story
Or long-lost song's refrain;
What crowned our past with glory
It made our prese...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Our Country (1859)

(See Note)

A land there is, lying near far-northern snow,
Where only the fissures life's springtime may know.
But surging, the sea tells of great deeds done,
And loved is the land as a mother by son.

What time we were little and sat on her knee,
She gave us her saga with pictures to see.
We read till our eyes opened wide and moist,
While nodding and smiling she mute rejoiced.

We went to the fjord and in wonder beheld
The ashen-gray bauta, that record of eld;
Still older she stood and her silence kept,
While stone-studded hows all around us slept.

Our hands she then took and away o'er the hill
She led to the church ever lowly and still,
Where humbly our forefathers knelt to pray,
And mildly she taught us: "Do ye as they!"

She ...

Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson