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OUR LANGUAGE 221
OUR LANGUAGE
(1900)
Tov, who sailest Norse mountain-air,
And Denmark’s songs by the cradle singest,
Who badest in Hald the war-flames flare,
And, heard in our children’s joy, gently ringest, —
Thou treasure of treasures,
Our mother-tongue,
In pains as in pleasures
Our home and our tower,
With God our power,—
We hallow thee!
Whispering secrets that Holberg stored,
Thou borest him home to a brighter morning,
Didst serve him with armor and whet his sword
For satire’s assaults and for laughter’s warning.
Thou spirit all knowing,
Our mother-tongue,
The ages foregoing,
The future now growing,
The present glowing, —
We hallow thee!
Kierkegaard thou to the deeps didst bring,
Where life’s full currents in God he sounded.
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