My Beautiful Home
A. P. Berggren
My beautiful home, where the blue wave has hummed the tempo for my cradle;
Mermaids, that loom up out of the Deep, Spring-fresh crown of small islands,
Where it is so cozy to build nests, Where it is so bare of flowers to walk on
As on your motherly soil.
And the mountain’s sons are really a tiny bit closer to heaven,
But the eye sees the teeming stars from (the) plains as readily as from (the) mountains.
Our mountains are heaven-clouded, and our heights are only midgets.
But each and every one has fought in secret (to save).