Hymn

Hymn

 

 

O, my God, the Magyar bless

 

With Thy plenty and good cheer!

 

With Thine aid his just cause press,

 

Where his foes to fight appear.

 

Fate, who for so long did'st frown,

 

Bring him happy times and ways;

 

Atoning sorrow hath weighed down

 

Sins of past and future days.

 

 

 

By Thy help our fathers gained

 

Kárpát's proud and sacred height;

 

Here by Thee a home obtained

 

Heirs of Bendegúz, the knight.

 

Where'er Danube's waters flow

 

And the streams of Tisza swell

 

Árpád's children, Thou dost know,

 

Flourished and did prosper well.

 

 

 

For us let the golden grain

 

Grow upon the fields of Kún,

 

And let Nectar's silver rain

 

Ripen grapes of Tokay soon.

 

Thou our flags hast planted o'er

 

Forts where once wild Turks held sway;

 

Proud Vienna suffered sore

 

From King Mátyás' dark array.

 

 

 

But, alas! for our misdeed,

 

Anger rose within Thy breast,

 

And Thy lightnings Thou did'st speed

 

From Thy thundering sky with zest.

 

Now the Mongol arrow flew

 

Over our devoted heads;

 

Or the Turkish yoke we knew,

 

Which a free-born nation dreads.

 

 

 

O, how often has the voice

 

Sounded of wild Osman's hordes,

 

When in songs they did rejoice

 

O'er our heroes' captured swords!

 

Yea, how often rose Thy sons,

 

My fair land, upon Thy sod,

 

And Thou gavest to these sons,

 

Tombs within the breast they trod!

 

 

 

Though in caves pursued he lie,

 

Even then he fears attacks.

 

Coming forth the land to spy,

 

Even a home he finds he lacks.

 

Mountain, vale - go where he would,

 

Grief and sorrow all the same -

 

Underneath a sea of blood,

 

While above a sea of flame.

 

 

 

'Neath the fort, a ruin now,

 

Joy and pleasure erst were found,

 

Only groans and sighs, I trow,

 

In its limits now abound.

 

But no freedom's flowers return

 

From the spilt blood of the dead,

 

And the tears of slavery burn,

 

Which the eyes of orphans shed.

 

 

 

Pity, God, the Magyar, then,

 

Long by waves of danger tossed;

 

Help him by Thy strong hand when

 

He on grief's sea may be lost.

 

Fate, who for so long did'st frown,

 

Bring him happy times and ways;

 

Atoning sorrow hath weighed down

 

All the sins of all his days.

 

- Loew, William N. -

 

*************** sony alpha 7 + carl zeiss sonnar - 85mm f2.8 QBM (hergestellt in GDR) ***************

 

Done