FALK.
Og siljen fløjted, fløjted mig tilskamme!
Nej De har ret; da var det børneværk;
men De har vakt mig til et bedre virke; –
midt indi stimlen står den store kirke,
hvor sandheds røst skal runge ren og stærk.
Det gælder ej at skue, som Asynjen,
fra højden over al den vilde dyst; –
nej, bære skønhedsmærket i sit bryst,
som Hellig-Olaf bar sit kors på brynjen, –
at se med langsyn over slagets vidder,
skønt hildet han i kampens virvar sidder, –
et skimt af sol bag tågen at bevare,
det er det livsenskrav, en mand skal klare!
FALK.
And a sweet sallow sang me into shame.
No, you are right: I was a child to ask;
But you have fired me to a nobler task.
Right in the midst of men the Church is founded
Where Truth’s appealing clarion must be sounded
We are not called, like demigods, to gaze on
The battle from the far-off mountain’s crest,
But in our hearts to bear our fiery blazon,
An Olaf’s cross upon a mailed breast,--
To look afar across the fields of flight,
Tho’ pent within the mazes of its might,--
Beyond the mirk descry one glimmer still
Of glory--that’s the Call we must fulfil.
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