A Journey to America
by Isaac Nelson
A poem I am writing, while time hangs heavy on my hands,
To send it home to Norway, my beloved Fatherland.
With Peterson our Captain, and the good ship Laurdal
On this we took our passage, to still the Western Call.
On the 18th of April, our good ship raised her sails
And left the port of Paarsgrund, with a gentle eastern gale.
It was a Sunday morning, the sun was shining high,
Our ship slid past the seashore, and our pilot said goodbye.
It was with deepest sorrow, we saw thru mists like dew,
Our dear, our dearest Norway, disappearing in the blue.
Yes, tears were falling also, so all the eyes were dim,
When we saw Norway sinking, neath the blue horizon's rim.
Then on we plowed, just westward, across the rough North Sea
But seawaves mattered little, in such gay company,
Westward, ever westward, past Scotland's rocky shore,
We plowed thru icy waters, where Norsemen sailed before.
But soon the stormwaves thundered, so we tho't the ship would bend,
And many cried and wondered if this would be the end.
But our group had courage, and left it in God's Hand,
Who cares for all his children, on the sea as on the land.
But sorrow broke our courage, when to fix the ship's torn sail
A sailor missed the rigging, and was lost below the gale.
Two rescue boats were lowered, and sailors searched the sea
But he could not be discovered, He was buried in the deep.
His brother stood there staring at the dark blue waves,
It seemed he could not bear it, but a child said, "Jesus Saves."
Now westwinds bro't on surges, so our ship almost stood still,
Like noisy funeral dirges, Oh, God, is this your will?
Our rations were decreasing, we walked the deck by night
With silent prayers entreating God, for His mercy and His might.
And icebergs, too, were floating, like white towers in a wall,
They had an Arctic coating, like the glacier Ljosterdal.
At St. Paul and Birden we hoped to see some land,
But the fog was even thicker, like the beard on Uncle Sam.
The second day of Pentecost, the first of June the date,
A gay and forceful eastwind pushed us at rapid rate.
And there also was some westwind, to push us back again.
But soon we were rewarded, thank God we saw the land,
The tall and stately pine trees, the lovely little farms,
And here I want to tell you, it made our hearts feel warm.
It was just like home in Norway, with homes built by the sea,
And sunlight on the mountains, it was beautiful to see.
For days we enjoyed the scenery, created by God's might,
And lovely farms out in the west, we dreamed about at night.
We tho't of Wolfe and Montcalm, in the Battle of Quebec,
When we saw that city's spires, from our corner of the deck.
But it was almost midsummer, the 18th day of June
When we reached its lovely harbor, lit by the summer moon.
Soon our group was walking, on God's green earth again.
We thanked our God in Heaven, who bro't us safe to land.
We walked down to the depot, and took our passage west,
And Montreal and Toronto were cities that we passed.
To Uncle Sam's vast empire, one morning we arrived,
A passage on the steamboat took us to the other side.
Now we were in Milwaukee, and in Wisconsin state,
To a farm home near Pine Lake, we arrived that evening late.
This was our destination, our journey's goal and end,
To homes of good Norwegians we knew at home as friends,
They lovingly received us, dressed in their Sunday best,
With food their tables laden, for us as welcome guests.
While I was home in Norway I had so many friends,
I think about you often, so now I'll greetings send,
Yes, so very much I've missed you, in this strange foreign land,
God knows if we in this world, will ever meet again.
Goodbye to you, dear Norway, with mountains tall and fjords,
Declaring to us God's Glory, and the worship of the Lord.
Goodbye dear congregation, where peace and quiet reigns,
While teaching all your children of Peace, Good Will to Men.
Goodbye to you dear young folks, whom I have held so dear,
I never will forget you, in tho'ts you're always near.
Goodbye to all you people, who were with us on the ship,
And shared our joys and sorrows, on this extensive trip.
Dear friends, if you should wonder who wrote this day by day,
While storms around us thundered, and we were far from gay,
I tho't I'd have to tell you, for I'm not a man of fame,
I'm from Sathre in Luksefjeld, and Isaac Nelson is my name.
Note: Translated by Mrs. Emil Lilleodden, of Shelby, Montana, a daughter of the poet.
Note: St. Paul and Birden are small islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
Editor's note: This poem is known to have circulated in Linden Twp., Brown County, where the Nelson family settled and many of my Shellum, Brudelie and Broste ancestors paused in their journey. The poet came from the same Telemark community as the family of Inger Marie Olsdatter Saeteret, who became the wife of my immigrant grand-uncle, Peter Shellum. According to the Gjerpen bygdebok, a local history, the poem also was published in Skien, Norway, which is close to the poet's home in Norway. Skien is best known as the home of Henrik Ibsen one of Norway's greatest literary figures.
