Of the strength, the tenderness, the lyric grace, the inward and heartfelt devotion-weeping, praying, sympathizing, deprecating the anger, and triumphing in the goodness and the greatness of the Almighty-which pervade the hymns and psalms of Grundtvig, our limits will not allow us to give any adequate conception. No nation has a nobler or more original collection of such sacred poetry than Denmark. From Kingo and Brorson downwards, almost all their chief poets, have contributed to it, and every Sunday their splendid compositions are sung in the churches: amongst them, none are more lively and beautiful than Grundtvig's. We present one of them, and regret that we cannot also add his beautifully touching "Mary Magdalene.' SONG OF PRAISE. O mighty God! we Thee adore Thy name is blessed by cherubim, Thy name is blessed by seraphim! And songs of praise from earth ascend, With thine angelic quires to blend. Holy art Thou, our God! Holy art Thou, our God! Holy art Thou, our God! Thou didst create the glorious skies, Yes, Father, praise from all bursts forth, Because Thy Son brought peace to earth; Because Thy Holy Ghost doth give The word which makes Thy Church to live. Thou King of Glory, Saviour, dear, O Holy Ghost! to us so dear, Halleluja! grief is o'er, And Paradise unsealed once more. God's Spirit dwelleth with the poor. Halleluja! evermore, Our God hath bliss for us in store. O mighty God! we Thee adore O holy, mighty God of grace! In his more general poetry Grundtvig often betrays too much of the oratorical talent, and his words flow like a mountain stream, impetuous and almost without limit ; but in his shorter pieces, like the following, he is peculiarly happy. In fact, his poetic genius is essentially lyrical. THE MOTHER-TONGUE. The mother's name is a heavenly sound Our mother's voice was the cradle song Our mother-tongue is that in which Our young souls first found expression; To pour out his full heart's passion. 'Twas spoken by all those kings of old, Our mother-tongue, in the people's mouth, "Tis loved in the North and in the South, Our mother-tongue, like a flowery wreath, Through it the souls of our fathers breathe, Our hearts speak only our mother-tongue, Our mother-tongue, by the sea-shore wild, And sweet in recollection. It is only by collecting into one view the great and varied labours of Grundtvig-what he has written and what he has done; his masterly writings on the Ancient Scandinavian Mythology and hero-life; his equally masterly and extensive translations from the Latin, the Icelandic and the Anglo-Saxon; his sermons and speeches of the most fervent eloquence; and the voluminous mass of his miscellaneous productions, poetic, historic, antiquarian and polemic, that we arrive at a true idea of the intellectual proportions of Grundtvig-one of the most colossal, original and independent minds of the North. CHAPTER VII. STEEN STEENSEN BLICHER. STEEN BLICHER, if not one of the greatest writers of Denmark, is one of the most characteristic and original. A cotemporary author of his own country has declared him to be the "most Danish of the poets who have hitherto written in Danish." He was a clergyman in Jutland, as his father was before him; and he has made his native province the scene of his poetry and his stories, giving and receiving from it that peculiar tone and aspect which make his writings stand out in sharp contrast to that of all other Danish writers, as those of Crabbe do from English ones. They have the same graphic character; the same power of scene-painting in words; the same faculty of placing whatever it touches, not only before you, but living, and fresh as in nature. But Blicher has the advantage over Crabbe, that he possesses or at least brings into use, more imagination, and does not confine his topics so much to what is wretched, painful and humiliating. His country is a country of wild heaths, sandy and heathery, with its pine woods and its |