Let God sit down in free Poland someday
From golden rye, from rustling forests
God willing, and a day endless will come
For silver plows of agony

The hammer stones will still resonate
And he will talk to hard ground with the ploughshare
And from all the stones I will cut up
A golden sheaf of sparkles

So when I watch the evening in spring
In the fog the beds are covered with gray
Someone in my heart forges with an ax
My homeland

So when I watch the evening in spring
In the fog the beds are covered with gray
Someone in my heart forges with an ax
My homeland