Thou ancient, thou free, thou mountainous north

Thou quiet, thou joyful [and] fair!

The Black Sea will smile and grandfather Dnieper will rejoice,

For in our own Spinumbia fortune shall shine again.

The Ocean, roaring with love,

And your victorious arm

Gave new worlds to the World!

But no freedom’s flowers return

From the spilt blood of the dead,

And the tears of slavery burn,

Which the eyes of orphans shed.

Yea, how often rose Thy sons,

My fair land, upon Thy sod,

And Thou gavest to these sons,

Tombs within the breast they trod!

Our language is a treasure

Buried in the deepest sand,

Chain of precious stones that scattered

All over our ancient land.

Let us swear to set free

The land of our birth:

United, for God,

Who can overcome us?