The blacksmith is a friend of toil,
He waits his time in the turmoil.
Until the iron has turned red,
Then lets the blow fall quickly.
A thorough Check,[*] without a dread,
A smith, and not one sickly.
And so, and so,
Blow upon blow,
Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo!
He misses the iron by never a blow.
Bohemia is our native land,
And blessed of God, with coal our land;
The coal it gives us light and heat,
And the iron makes us strong.
Strong hands can do great deeds, and meet
For a heart that knows no wrong.
And so, and so,
Blow upon blow,
Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo!
He misses the iron by never a blow.
Bohemians have been blacksmiths bold,
Strong of arm, they have kept their hold,
Made plows, and harrows, thrashing frail,
Axe and hammer, bar and nail.
With shame their cheeks were never pale—
They knew not such a word as fail.
And so, and so,
Blow upon blow,
Like thunder they fall on the anvil, and lo!
They miss the iron by never a blow.
↑ *The Bohemians call themselves Checks.
