Our Land (Runeberg)
(Redirected from Maamme)
For works with similar titles, see Our Land.
- 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.