ave forstaae, Who our gift's worth know,
Som ei Jordlaenker binde Who earth's fetters spurn all,
Men hvis Sjaele sig haeve And whose souls are soaring
Til det Eviges Tinde; To the throne of th' Eternal;
Som ane det Hoie Who in eye of Nature
I Naturens Oie; Behold the Creator;
Som tilbedende baeve And tremble adoring,
For Guddommens Straaler 'Fore the rays of his power
I Sole, Violer, In the sun, in the flower,
I det Mindste, det Storste, In the greatest and least,
Som braendende torste And with thirst are possest
Efter Livets Liv; For of life the spring;
Som, o store Aand Who, O powerful sprite
For de svundne Tider! Of the times departed!
Se dit Guddomsblik See thy look bright
Paa Helligdommens Sider: From the relic's sides darted:
For _dem_ lyder atter vort Bliv. For them our Be once more shall
ring.

"Naturens Son, "Nature's son, whose name
Ukjaendt i Lon, Is unknown to fame,
Men som sine Faedre But his acre tilling,
Kraftig og stor, Strong-armed and tall,
Dyrkende sin Jord, Like his forefathers all,
Ham vil vi haedre, Him to honour we're willing,
Han skal atter finde!" He shall find the second token!"
Saa syngende de svinde. They vanished, this spoken.

Hrymfaxe, den sorte, Black Hrymfax weary
Puster og dukker Panteth and bloweth,
Og i Havet sig begraver: And in sea himself buried;
Morgenens Porte And Belling cheery
Delling oplukker; Morn's gates ope throweth;
Skinfaxe traver Forth Skinfax hurrieth,
I straalende Lue On heaven's bridge prancing,
Paa Himmelens Bue. And with lustre glancing.

Ved lune Skov By the bright green shaw
Oxnene traekke The oxen striding
Den tunge Plov The heavy plough draw,
Over sorten Daekke. The soil dividing.

Da standser Ploven The plough stops; sorest
En Gysen farer Of shudders rushes
Igjennem Skoven; Right thr