by Henrik Wergeland

    Words？ Those sounds the world despises.

    Words in poems？

    Even more to be disdained¹！

    Ah， how feeble are your powers

    to defend

    all the truth that man denies！

    Thunder crack and lightning flash

    at its presence！

    Hosts of angels should come swooping²

    down from heaven to the rescue

    far and wide

    spread the knowledge of its glory.

    Oh， why can it not come winging

    from on high？

    Truth， that with a starry³ birth

    wears a helmet brightly gleaming

    wielding⁴ swords

    fiercely sharp instead of feathers.

    Oh， why then does it not pitch camp

    tent on tent

    white on every mountainside？

    Oh， why then are not its heroes

    strongly ranged

    to keep mastery over life？

    The fort of darkness is well guarded.

    Superstition⁵

    rests secure on stony⁶ columns.

    Numerous as Egypt's serpents

    round truth's temple

    range the black-clad guards of error.

    Forward， though， you feeble lines！

    Words are armies！

    On this earth your victory

    was promised by the Lord， Light's father，

    when you serve

    Truth itself， his child， alone.

    Onward⁷， words， you sons of truth！

    En avant！

    In the end the hearts of men

    will be your victorious⁸ home.

    Then your light

    will with courage bear them on.

    Forward， with your boldest faces

    Words of truth！

    For the greatest power on Earth

    has been granted you by God：

    Because never

    Could you die in Truth's pure mouth！

    Courage take then， all you small ones！

    Truth's great cause

    Only triumphs in defeat.

    Storm the bitter heights of lies！

    Raze⁹ them to the ground with Truth！

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