by Henrik Wergeland

Words？ Those sounds the world despises.

Words in poems？

Even more to be disdained！

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 swooping

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 starry birth

wears a helmet brightly gleaming

wielding 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.

Superstition

rests secure on stony 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.

Onward， words， you sons of truth！

En avant！

In the end the hearts of men

will be your victorious 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！

Raze them to the ground with Truth！