Finland
Our land, our land, our fatherland,
Let the dear words ring forth!
No hills to heaven their heights expand,
No valley dips, seas wash no strand,
More cherished than our home far north,
Than this our native earth.
Our land is poor, it has no hold
On those who lust for gain,
And strangers pass it proud and cold,
But we, we treasure every grain,
For us, with moor and fell and main,
It is a land of gold.
Thy bloom, a tender but till now,
Shall burst its bounds ere long;
See from our love for thee shall grow
Thy hope and joy, thy fame shall glow,
And ringing louder and more strong
To Finland rise our song.
Johan Ludvig Runeberg
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