![]() (7) Here it is sweet and good, we wot, all, too, is giv’n us here however fate may cast our lot, a land, a fatherland, we’ve got. (6) And it was here their blood was shed, for us, here, on this shore and it was here their joys were bred, here, that their sighs were heaved and fled, that people’s who our burdens bore before us, long before. (5) Who tells, of all the fights, the tale, in which this folk withstood, when war did rage from dale to dale, when frost set in, with hunger’s wail? Who measured all their pouring blood, and all their patience good? And here, in clouded times, and clear, with fortune in their front or rear, their Finnish hearts have beat, and wrought and borne what bear they ought. (4) Here fought our fathers, without fear, with sword, and plough, and thought. ![]() (3) We love our rippling brooks, so bright, our gushing streams, so strong, the whisper of dark woods, at night, our starry skies, our summer light, all, all that we, in sight and song, have felt and lived among. The strangers proudly pass, but we shall ever love this land, we see, in moor, and fell, and isle and wave, a golden land, so brave. (2) Our land is poor, and so shall be to him who gold will crave. (1) Our land, our land, our Fatherland! Ring out, dear word, oh sound! No rising hill, or mountain grand, no sloping dale, no northern strand, there is, more loved, to be found, than this - our fathers’ ground. ![]()
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