Text / Musik Hymne
Republik Moldawien

Limba noastra-i o comoara
În adâncuri înfundata
Un sirag de piatra rara
Pe mosie revarsata.
Limba noastra-i foc ce arde
Într-un neam, ce fara veste
S-a trezit din somn de moarte
Ca viteazul din poveste.
Limba noastra-i numai cântec,
Doina dorurilor noastre,
Roi de fulgere, ce spintec
Nouri negri, zari albastre.

Limba noastra-i graiul pâinii,
Când de vânt se misca vara;
In rostirea ei batrânii
Cu sudori sfintit-au tara.
Limba noastra-i frunza verde,
Zbuciumul din codrii vesnici,
Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde
Ai luceferilor sfesnici.
Nu veti plânge-atunci amarnic,
Ca vi-i limba prea saraca,
Si-ti vedea, cât îi de darnic
Graiul tarii noastre draga.

Limba noastra-i vechi izvoade.
Povestiri din alte vremuri;
Si citindu-le 'nsirate, -
Te-nfiori adânc si tremuri.
Limba noastra îi aleasa
Sa ridice slava-n ceruri,
Sa ne spiue-n hram si-acasa
Vesnicele adevaruri.
Limba noastra-i limba sfânta,
Limba vechilor cazanii,
Care o plâng si care o cânta
Pe la vatra lor taranii.

Înviati-va dar graiul,
Ruginit de multa vreme,
Stergeti slinul, mucegaiul
Al uitarii 'n care geme.
Strângeti piatra lucitoare
Ce din soare se aprinde -
Si-ti avea în revarsare
Un potop nou de cuvinte.
Rasari-va o comoara
În adâncuri înfundata,
Un sirag de piatra rara
Pe mosie revarsata.


Englische Übersetzung

Our Tongue

A treasure is our tongue that surges
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.
A burning flame is our tongue
Amidst a people waking
From a deathly sleep, no warning,
Like the brave man of the stories.
Our tongue is made of songs
From our soul's deepest desires,
Flash of lighting striking swiftly
Through dark clouds and blue horizons.

Our tongue is the tongue of bread
When the winds blow through the summer,
Uttered by our forefathers who
Blessed the country through their labour.
Our tongue is the greenest leaf
Of the everlasting forests,
Gentle river Nistru's ripples
Hiding starlight bright and shining.
Utter no more bitter cries now
That your language is too poor,
And you will see with what abundance
Flow the words of our precious country.

Our tongue is full of legends,
Stories from the days of old.
Reading one and then another
Makes one shudder, tremble and moan.
Our tongue is singled out
To lift praises up to heaven,
Uttering with constant fervour
Truths that never cease to beckon.
Our tongue is more than holy,
Words of homilies of old
Wept and sung perpetually
In the homesteads of our folks.

Resurrect now this our language,
Rusted through the years that have passed,
Wipe off filth and mould that gathered
When forgotten through our land.
Gather now the sparkling stone,
Catching bright light from the sun.
You will see the endless flooding
Of new words that overflow.
A treasure will spring up swiftly
From deep shadows of the past,
Chain of precious stones that scattered
All over our ancient land.


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