Serbia, Mother the Great!
Thee, closing Thy wounds, cast the glance
To the world with blood tears of Thy fate.
Serbia! ‘gainst foes Thou art up to strive
And hearten up, having neglected Thy fall,
Given rest to the dead, and a flag to alive!
Here my brethren’s hand palm is spread,
Here’s a dropped tear on the chest.
Here a veil is drawn by the shades of the dead
On the wounded Heart of the Earth.
Serbia!
Serbia! Quite so! Thou art a sister o’mine!
Thou art on the silent graves’ land
Of Thy sons – for Thy sake who died.
Serbia! I solemnly speak with my woe,
The fire of death-bringing centuries waned!
We honour dead ashes and living pain.
Serbia!
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