Bohemian legends and other poems/Concord in the Nation

CONCORD IN THE NATION.[*]

Concord, brothers! Stand by our mother
Our mighty mother our only love.
And let the light of our glorious past
Shine on the lion flag from above.
Long sleep has made us once more strong,
The future will us honor yield.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield,[†]

Ah, once the sun of glory shining,
Illustrious made Bohemia’s name.
From the Baltic to the Adriatic,
Our native land was known to fame.
The sun shone, and our land was great,
From mountain top to fruitful field.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

Bohemia spake, and the world trembled—
From far and wide they quaking heard.
She raised her voice to God, and heaven,
By holy song of hers, was stirred.
It was Bohemia’s voice that sang,
The truth that from her mountains pealed.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

Oh, for the true words, and the true faith,
Of our Cyril and Methodej.
Bohemia on the bloody mountains
Lost their freedom through faith in you.

Knock, oh, Bohemians! on your hills,
There sleep the brave who would not yield.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

Yes, there is honor in a downfall
After a most desperate warfare.
When the land lies crushed, but not conquered—
For the free soul still lingers there.
Like the phoenix from dead ashes,
Warriors arise from our fields.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

My country, my poor blinded country—
What fate now can cause thee to blaze?
You see not the blood that is streaming,
To springs of the far-away days.
It blazes the blood on our hills—
It calls us never to yield.
Only concord, concord; brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

The bones of our fathers are scattered—
Their blood it is chill now in death.
From their bones will rise up the giants,
Their blood is the red morning’s breath.
The red clouds call us to glory,
They smile on us never to yield.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.

With concord then on to the battle,
The east is ablaze—and I dream,
I hope that the hour is nearing,
When the God of nations will seem
To call us once more unto fame,
Once more to the honorable field.
Only concord, concord, brothers,
Shield us, St. Václav, with thy shield.


^ * This poem received the poetic prize in Prague.

^ † St. Vàclav (Wenzel), patron saint of Bohemia, was murdered by his brother, a heathen, in a church. He was king of Bohemia, A.D. 928. Murdered by Boleslav.