Nor fears her cold and wintry days:
To his high goal with triumph bright
The calm years waft him in their flight.
Thou glorious goal, that shin’st afar,
And seem’st to smile us on our way,
Bright is the hope that crowns our war,
The dawn-blush of eternal day;
There shall we meet, this dark world o’er,
And mix in love for evermore.
Translation of W. S. Walker. Thomas Thaarup, 1749–1821.