Hymne III - Wolf And Hatred

	作词 : Garm, Savard
	O Vandringsmand i een forbandet Nat
	Troe ey at hans Had dig vild skaane
	Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden
	End dig -
	Der vild skiælve i hans vær
	I uselt Haab om at Huus er nær
	End dig -
	Hvis Blod skald blifve hans stærke Viin
	Oc Siæl, hans hellige Trofé
	Faafængt han lader dig gyde
	Ut dit Blod i Smertens Sin
	Saa du som død ey Sofnloest kand
	Fortælde Frænder: "Ulven er ham!"
	Som Offer for Beistets Krav
	Dit Blod vild rende koldt som Bæcl i Grav
	Gud er ey her, men Døden nær
	Oc hvert Secund som her
	Er undt dig -
	Skimrer i et dobbelt Skiær
	Aff baade Liiv & Død
	Rasende lader han Bliket binde
	Løfter dit i Maaneskinnet
	O Wanderer in this infernal Night
	Believe not his Hate will spare thee
	His prey shall be no one
	But thee -
	Who shall tremble when he is near
	In foolish hope for shelter
	And thou -
	Whose bloode strong wine shall be
	Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie
	In vein he lets thee shed
	Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne
	Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
	Revealing: "The Wolf is he!"
	Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
	As streams through Graves below
	God is not here, but death draws near
	And secondes are O, so few
	In a Nature twofold they shine
	Beginning and End combine
	Fool, thou art prostrate
	By the raging eyne of his
	Lifted upwards
	Rapt in Moonshine

	zuò cí : Garm, Savard
	O Vandringsmand i een forbandet Nat
	Troe ey at hans Had dig vild skaane
	Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden
	End dig
	Der vild ski lve i hans v r
	I uselt Haab om at Huus er n r
	End dig
	Hvis Blod skald blifve hans st rke Viin
	Oc Si l, hans hellige Trofé
	Faaf ngt han lader dig gyde
	Ut dit Blod i Smertens Sin
	Saa du som d d ey Sofnloest kand
	Fort lde Fr nder: " Ulven er ham!"
	Som Offer for Beistets Krav
	Dit Blod vild rende koldt som B cl i Grav
	Gud er ey her, men D den n r
	Oc hvert Secund som her
	Er undt dig
	Skimrer i et dobbelt Ski r
	Aff baade Liiv D d
	Rasende lader han Bliket binde
	L fter dit i Maaneskinnet
	O Wanderer in this infernal Night
	Believe not his Hate will spare thee
	His prey shall be no one
	But thee
	Who shall tremble when he is near
	In foolish hope for shelter
	And thou
	Whose bloode strong wine shall be
	Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie
	In vein he lets thee shed
	Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne
	Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends
	Revealing: " The Wolf is he!"
	Coldlie thy bloode shall flow
	As streams through Graves below
	God is not here, but death draws near
	And secondes are O, so few
	In a Nature twofold they shine
	Beginning and End combine
	Fool, thou art prostrate
	By the raging eyne of his
	Lifted upwards
	Rapt in Moonshine