[Introduction — quiet choir] In our native land… In our native land… Where the wind touches the old birch trees, Where the sun rises above the fields, Where a person is born With a dream of freedom… [Verse 1] In our native land, In our native land, Where we till the soil for bread and grain, Where we till the soil for bread and grain. Our hands know the cold, Our shoulders know the toil, But above every person The open heavens wait. We do not ask for an easy life, We are not afraid of difficult days, Only let fate not choose The road for other people. Let a father teach his son To seek his own way, And let no one, by another’s will, Force him into silence. [Chorus — broad choir] Oh, native land, Your horizons stretch so wide, Leave us hope, But do not leave us sorrow. Let the free wind Speak above the fields: Man is born for truth, Man is born to live. [Verse 2] Dust rises along the road, The sun descends toward the river, An old traveler quietly watches The lights in the distance. He has walked through many winters, He has seen more than his share of sorrow, But in his eyes there remains That which cannot be forgotten. He said, “Do not fear the truth, Even when the night is dark. There is no night that lasts forever If a country remembers the light. They can take away bread and shelter, They can chain up words, But while the soul has not surrendered A person is still alive.” [Chorus] Oh, native land, Your horizons stretch so wide, Leave us hope, But do not leave us sorrow. Let the free wind Speak above the fields: Man is born for truth, Man is born to live. [Verse 3] Every one of our rivers carries The memory of ancient shores, Every old song carries The voices of years gone by. And when above the quiet field The dawn begins to rise, We will hear within the sound of the wind What the whole land remembers. It is not wealth that makes us Great or strong, Not iron railways, Nor palaces above the cities. What makes a person strong Is the right to be oneself To love for oneself, to believe for oneself, To decide and to live freely. [Chorus — stronger] Oh, native land, Your horizons stretch so wide, Let there be sky above us, Not walls of cold steel. Let the free wind Speak above the fields: Man is born for truth, Man is born to live. [Verse 4] If one day my son should ask: “Why did we, for so many years, Preserve this land Through cold, blood, and snow?” I will answer: “Not for glory, Not for gold in our hands. We preserved the right to choose For the children yet to come.” Let them see the fields, Let them hear the sound of rain, Let them have a place to laugh, A place to love and to dream. Let them never learn to fear The words of other people. Let them meet Each new day as free people. [Bridge — almost without music] Do not ask the heavens for power. Do not ask for others’ rewards. Ask only that your heart remain honest Along the long road ahead. If the truth becomes too heavy Do not cast it into darkness. If your voice becomes quiet Let the world hear it. Because our will Is not a gift from kings. Freedom begins In every human heart. [Verse 5 — choir rising] In our native land The light of bread rises once again, And above every new field A new dawn begins. We will pass through blizzards, Through years, through fear, But we will leave our children The wind and freedom in their hands. Let it pour out over the Volga, Over the fields, Over the distant villages, Our song shall spread To the farthest edge of the land. Not about power, not about glory But about a simple human right: To live without fear, To speak, And to choose one’s own path. [Final Chorus — full choir] Oh, native land, Your horizons stretch so wide! Let the free wind Carry our sorrow away. Let a new day speak Above the green fields: Man is born free — Let him live in freedom! [Final Choir — slowly] In our native land… In our native land… May the light in the window never fade, May the light within the soul never fade. In our native land… Wherever we may be — As long as we remember who we are, The times will not break us. [Outro — single voice] And when above the old field The wind touches the grain, We will understand: Freedom is not a distant country. Not a banner. Not power. It is the right of a human being To remain human. [Choir, very softly] In our native land… In our native land… Free wind… Free soul…
