Our land, our land, our Fatherland!
Ring out, dear word, oh sound!
No rising hill, or mountain grand,
No sloping dale, no northern strand,
There is, more loved, to be found,
Than this — our fathers’ ground.
Our land is poor, and so shall be
To him who gold will crave.
The strangers proudly pass, but we
Shall ever love this land, we see,
In moor, and fell, and isle and wave,
A golden land, so brave.
We love our rippling brooks, so bright,
Our gushing streams, so strong,
The whisper of dark woods, at night,
Our starry skies, our summer light,
All, all that we, in sight and song,
Have felt and lived among.
Here fought our fathers, without fear,
With sword, and plough, and thought.
And here, in clouded times, and clear,
With fortune in their front or rear,
Their Finnish hearts have beat, and wrought
And borne what bear they ought.
Who tells, of all the fights, the tale,
In which this folk withstood,
When war did rage from dale to dale,
When frost set in, with hunger’s wail?
Who measured all their pouring blood,
And all their patience good?
And it was here their blood was shed,
For us, here, on this shore;
And it was here their joys were bred,
Here, that their sighs were heaved and fled,
That people’s who our burdens bore
Before us, long before.
Here it is sweet and good, we wot,
All, too, is giv’n us here;
However fate may cast our lot,
A land, a fatherland, we’ve got.
Will there a thing on earth appear
More worthy, to hold dear?
And here’s, and here’s this fatherland,
Here every eye it sees;
And we can stretch a pointing hand,
To show, with joy, its sea and strand,
And say, “Behold this country, this,
Our Fatherland it is.”
And if we once were made to rise
To gold clouds, from below,
And if we moved in starry skies,
Where no one weeps, where no one sighs,
To this poor lonely country, though,
Our longing hearts would go.
Oh land, the thousand lakes’ own land,
Of faith, and lay, and glee,
Where life’s main sea gave us a strand,
Our fore-time’s land, our future’s land,
Shy of thy poorness, never be,
Be calm, be glad, be free!
Thy blossom, hidden now from sight,
Shall burst its bud ere long.
Lo! from our love, shall rise aright,
Thy sun, thy hope, thy joy, thy light,
And higher, once, more full and strong,
Shall ring Our Country’s song.
...Now that's pretty random..
Topic: The Random Thread (Read 2054811 times)