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！
