A nearly perfect folk the Scandic be;
That bear the Nordic air and forest deep
Where Viking ruled the land and open sea
Land of midnight Sun doth the night beweep
Yet amidst glory a dim plague arose
Upon sullen earth the darkness did quake;
And soul upon soul fell where shadow grows
That ancient citizens’ grave rows did make
Haply I think on thee, fair northern skies
These thoughts myself I convey not of fear
Mine waking hymn of pray’r ev’r with thee lies
Wherefore all mortal flesh hath wept a tear;
And let thy glory be remember’d here
That then I know mine state and love thee dear.