O our land Finland, our land of birth,
sound, the golden word!
There's no valley, no hill
no water, shore more precious
than this northern homeland
the dear land of our fathers!¨
Our land is poor, so it remains,
if you long for gold
A stranger sure abandons it,
but to us, the most precious land is this,
its wilds, islands, mainlands,
to us, they are golden.
They are dear to us
our rapids with their surges
the hummings of eternal pines
our starnights, the summers bright
all that with their pictures and songs
closed to heart.
Here with ploughs, swords, thoughts
our fathers fought,
when the day hid in the clouds
or shone with shines of happiness
here the nation of Finland, the most difficult
troubles they experienced.
This nation's battles who can
tell them, who?
When a war sounded in our valleys,
and frost brought the pain of hunger,
who measured the blood
and its sufferings?
Here has its blood flown
for our sake, too
here has it enjoyed its happiness
and sighed its worries
that nation, to which the most ancient
burden of ours was given.
Here we have a feeling excellent
and everything favourable,
although be it whatever luck
land fatherland is what we have.
What's sweeter in the world
and what's more precious?
And here is this land,
our eyes see it.
We can reach out a hand
and point at water, shore
and say: see, there's
our father's dearest land.
If we were accompanied to glory
even to golden clouds,
where we wouldn't cry
but most important joy the soul would get,
to this poor home
our will would be.
The homeland of truth and poet
the land with a thousand lakes
where our life gets protection,
you the land of memories and hopes,
always be, content with your luck,
free and joyful.
Your prosperity from its hide
shall break out once
yet our love it shall rise
your hope, joy in its brilliance,
and once, your song, the land of birth
shall get the highest echo.
