war-song of the magyars.
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Let it sound amid the mountain land,
That mighty gathering cry,—
Go up from steep, and crag, and cliff,
Clear, terrible, and high,
Till the vultures and the eagles
Scream back their hoarse reply!
That mighty gathering cry,—
Go up from steep, and crag, and cliff,
Clear, terrible, and high,
Till the vultures and the eagles
Scream back their hoarse reply!
Like the mingling of all fearful sounds
Of vengeance and of woe,—
Like the rush of fire, the roar of floods,
When wintry tempests blow,—
Like the thunder of the avalanche,
It shall sweep against the foe!
Of vengeance and of woe,—
Like the rush of fire, the roar of floods,
When wintry tempests blow,—
Like the thunder of the avalanche,
It shall sweep against the foe!
God of the nations. Thou didst hear
Poor Hungary's patient prayer,
From the prison of her bondage
And the night of her despair,
When the groanings of her spirit
Were burdening all the air?
Poor Hungary's patient prayer,
From the prison of her bondage
And the night of her despair,
When the groanings of her spirit
Were burdening all the air?
Thou didst flash upon her darkness
A great and sudden light;
Didst break her chains, and lead her forth,
And gird her for the fight
A great and sudden light;
Didst break her chains, and lead her forth,
And gird her for the fight
