Poems and Songs by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (classic books for 11 year olds TXT) 📖

brain,
In men of might
From its loins ta'en,
In will unbiased and unbroken,
In manly deed and bold word spoken.

His songs the nation's sins chastise,
He hates a lie, as truth's high teacher
(No Sunday-, but a weekday-preacher,
Who, suffering, still the wrong defies).
Against false peace he plies his lance,
'Gainst cowardice and ignorance,--
No bribe he knows
From nation's hand
Nor king's command;
But _his_ way goes.
And when he wavers, sorrow scourges
His heart and free of passion purges.

He is a brother of the small,
Of women, as of all who suffer,
The new and weak, when waves grow rougher,
He steers, till fairer breezes fall.
Greater he grows without his will
By deeds his calling to fulfil,
And near the tomb
To God he sighs,
That soon may rise
A richer bloom
To deck his people's soul with flowers
Of beauty far beyond his powers.



PSALMS

I
I seem to be
Sundered from Thee,
Thou Harmony of all creation.
Am I disowned
For talents loaned
And useless hid in vain probation?
Now powerless,
In weariness,
Now in despair a beggar humble
For help, for cheer,
A voice, an ear,
To hear and guide, while on I stumble.
God, let me be.
Of use to Thee!
If vain my purpose and my powers,
Then sinks from sight
My star,--and night
Henceforth my steps enfolding lowers.
Then break and bind
My ravaged mind
The terrors dread of doubt and anguish.
I know the pack,
I drove them back;--
Only to-day does courage languish.
Oh, come now, peace!
Come faith's increase,
That life's strong chain shall ever bind me!
That not in vain
I strive and strain
Myself to seek until I find me!


II
Honor the springtide life ever adorning,
That all things has made!
Things smallest have some resurrectional morning,
The forms alone fade.
Life begets life,
Potencies higher surprise.
Kind begets kind,
Heedless of time as it flies.
Worlds pass away and arise.

Nothing so small but there's something still smaller,
No one can see.
Nothing so great but there's something still greater
Beyond it can be.
Worms in the earth--
Mountains to make they essay.
Dust without worth,
Sands with which sea-billows play,--
Founders of kingdoms were they.

Infinite all, where the smallest and greatest
Oneness unfold.
No one has seen what was first,--and the latest
None shall behold.
Laws underlie,
Order the all they maintain.
Need and supply
Bring one another; our bane
Boots to the general gain.

Eternity's offspring and germ are we all now.
Thoughts have their true
Roots in our race's first morning; they fall now,
Query and clue,
Freighted with seed
Into eternity's soil;
Joy be your meed,
That your brief life's fleeting toil
Fruit for eternity bears.

Join in the joy of all life, every being,
Brief bloom of its spring!
Honor th' eternal, our human lot freeing
From fetters that cling!
Adding your mite,
With the eternal unite!
Though you decay,
Breathe as a moment you may,
Air of eternity's day!


III

CHORUS

Who art _Thou_, whom a thousand names trace
Through all times that are gone and each tongue?
Thou wert infinite yearning's embrace,
Thou wert hope when the yoke heavy hung,
Thou wert darkening death-terror's guest,
Thou wert sun that with life-gladness blessed.
Still Thine image we changefully fashion,
And each form we would call revelation;
Each man holds his for true with deep passion,--
Till it crumbles in poignant negation.


SOLO

Who Thou art, none can tell.
But I know Thou dost dwell
As the limitless search in my soul--it is Thou!--
After justice and light,
After victory's right
For the new that's revealed, it is Thou, it is Thou!
Every law that we see
Or believe there may be,
Though we never can knowledge attain, it is Thou!--
As my armor and aid
Round my life they are laid,
And with joy I avow, it is Thou, it is Thou!


CHORUS

Since we never Thine essence can know,
We have thought mediators of Thee;--
But the ages their impotence show,
We stand still, while no way we can see.
If in sickness for succor we thirst,
Is there balm in the dreams that have burst?
Stars of hope and of longing eternal,
That we saw o'er life's sorrows arisen,
Shall they sink in death's terrors nocturnal,
Only turn into worms in our prison?


SOLO
He that liveth in me,
Needeth no one to be
Mediator; I own Him indeed: it is Thou!
Is eternal hope prized
As from Him; is baptized
By His spirit my own,--is it Thou, is it Thou --:
Shall not I, who am dust,
His eternity trust?
I take humbly my law; for I know, it is Thou!
Was I worth Thy word: Live!
Let Thy life power give,
When Thou wilt, as Thou wilt,--it is Thou, it is Thou!



QUESTION AND ANSWER

THE CHILD

Father! Within the forest's bound
No bird I found,
No sound of song the woods around.


THE FATHER

The bird that glad his song us gave,
Flies o'er the wave;
Perhaps he there will find his grave.


THE CHILD

But why does he not wait till later?


THE FATHER

He goes where light and warmth are greater


THE CHILD

Father! It selfish seems to me,
Far off to flee,
When all we others here must be.


THE FATHER

With new-born spring comes new-born song;
By instinct strong
The better new he'll bring erelong.


THE CHILD

But if in death the cold waves swallow--?


THE FATHER

Others will come; his kin will follow.



SUNG FOR NORWAY'S RIFLEMEN

(1881)
(See Note 73)

Fly the banner, fly the banner!
For our freedom fight!
'Neath the banner, 'neath the banner,
Riflemen unite!
Graybeard in the Storting
Gives his vote for right and truth,
Rifle-voice supporting
Of our armèd youth.
Music runeful
Ring out tuneful
Bullets sent point-blank,
Fiery coursing,
Freedom forcing
Way to royal rank;
They from silent valleys
To the Storting's rallies
Bring the clear "Rah! Rah!"
And there clamors o'er us
Loud the rifle chorus,
Piercing and repeated: "Rah! Rah!
Rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah."

As the lingering echo rattles,
Listens sure our Mother Norway,
That her sons can go the war-way,
Fight her freedom's future battles.



WORKMEN'S MARCH

(See Note 74)

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
That makes _one_ of many, many,
That makes bold, if fear daunts any,
That makes small the load and lighter,
That makes near the goal and brighter,
Till it greets us gained with laughter,
And we seek the next one after.

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Marching, marching of few hundreds,
No one heeds it, never one dreads;
Marching, marching of few thousands,
Here and there wakes some to hearing;
Marching, marching hundred thousands,--
All will mark that thunder nearing.

Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Let us march all, never weaken
Time from Vardö down to Viken,
Vinger up to Bergen's region,--
Let us make _one_ marching legion,
Then we'll rout some wrong from Norway,
Open wide to right the doorway.



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,