O land of those ancient forebears of mine,
There is naught in the world I'd not hasten to bring thee,
To the whole world I am ready to sing thee,
To raise thee up a throne on those graveyards of thine.
Happily with my soul I would breathe warmth within thee,
Or weave thee a crown from sun and stars' gold shine,
And crown thee with it, though for one moment's time,
For thee to shine in beauty all too hard for winning.
For thee in the fray I'd perish readily,
Against the wrongs heaped on thee by men and God, unkindly,
By the stranger and by thine own son in his blindness.
I will suffer endless griefs and woes eternally.
And for this I'll seek but one small thing from thee,
That thou'lt not drive me out, but keep me here abiding.