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Limba NoastraLimba Noastra has been since 1994 the national anthem of the Republic of Moldova. The lyrics are from Alexei Mateevici (1888-1917) and the music was composed by Alexandru Cristea (1890-1942). The original poem contains twelve stanzas, five of which have been kept for the anthem. These are marked in bold. Limba noastră - Limba noastră-i o comoară
- n adncuri nfundată
- Un şirag de piatră rară
- Pe moşie revărsată.
- Limba noastră-i foc ce arde
- ntr-un neam, ce fără veste
- S-a trezit din somn de moarte
- Ca viteazul din poveste.
- Limba noastră-i numai cntec,
- Doina dorurilor noastre,
- Roi de fulgere, ce spintec
- Nouri negri, zări albastre.
- Limba noastră-i graiul pinii,
- Cnd de vnt se mişcă vara;
- In rostirea ei bătrnii
- Cu sudori sfinţit-au ţara.
- Limba noastră-i frunză verde,
- Zbuciumul din codrii veşnici,
- Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde
- Ai luceferilor sfeşnici.
- Nu veţi plnge-atunci amarnic,
- Că vi-i limba prea săracă,
- Şi-ţi vedea, ct i de darnic
- Graiul ţării noastre dragă.
- Limba noastră-i vechi izvoade.
- Povestiri din alte vremuri;
- Şi citindu-le 'nşirate, -
- Te-nfiori adnc şi tremuri.
- Limba noastră i aleasă
- Să ridice slava-n ceruri,
- Să ne spiue-n hram şi-acasă
- Veşnicele adevăruri.
- Limba noastra-i limbă sfntă,
- Limba vechilor cazanii,
- Care o plng şi care o cntă
- Pe la vatra lor ţăranii.
- nviaţi-vă dar graiul,
- Ruginit de multă vreme,
- Stergeţi slinul, mucegaiul
- Al uitării 'n care geme.
- Strngeţi piatra lucitoare
- Ce din soare se aprinde -
- Şi-ţi avea n revărsare
- Un potop nou de cuvinte.
- Răsări-va o comoară
- n adncuri nfundată,
- Un şirag de piatră rară
- Pe moşie revărsată.
English translation - A treasure is our tongue that surges
- From deep shadows of the past,
- Chain of precious stones that scattered
- All over our ancient land.
- A burning flame is our tongue
- Amidst a people waking
- From a deathly sleep, no warning,
- Like the brave man of the stories.
- Our tongue is made of songs
- From our soul's deepest desires,
- Flash of lighting striking swiftly
- Through dark clouds and blue horizons.
- Our tongue is the tongue of bread
- When the winds blow through the summer,
- Uttered by our forefathers who
- Blessed the country through their labour.
- Our tongue is the greenest leaf
- Of the everlasting forests,
- Gentle river Nistru's ripples
- Hiding starlight bright and shining.
- Utter no more bitter cries now
- That your language is too poor,
- And you will see with what abundance
- Flow the words of our precious country.
- Our tongue is full of legends,
- Stories from the days of old.
- Reading one and then another
- Makes one shudder, tremble and moan.
- Our tongue is singled out
- To lift praises up to heaven,
- Uttering with constant fervour
- Truths that never cease to beckon.
- Our tongue is more than holy,
- Words of homilies of old
- Wept and sung perpetually
- In the homesteads of our folks.
- Resurrect now this our language,
- Rusted through the years that have passed,
- Wipe off filth and mould that gathered
- When forgotten through our land.
- Gather now the sparkling stone,
- Catching bright light from the sun.
- You will see the endless flooding
- Of new words that overflow.
- A treasure will spring up swiftly
- From deep shadows of the past,
- Chain of precious stones that scattered
- All over our ancient land.
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