козацький дом

Oh, so shall ride
Young men to war
So shall they ride
To make world more

Blood or thought
Scythe or sword?
Can man forge
His own destiny
Or bound to land be
Forever with shackles?
Can peasant turn
To man-at-arms
And schythe to be forged
As szabla in hands?

When blood boils
And heart calls
For brothers-in-arms
Ride, my boy
Ride before time
Puts its weight on you
Shackles unbreakable
And surrounds you
With black ground

Sable or seax?
Blood or thought
Scythe or sword?
Golden domes on rising sun
And glowing red on crosses
When sun sets down
On banks of Don
And mountains of far
And sea sweeter than those are
Where old blood faintly flows
And wall high as sky beholds

There, my boy
There is destiny
Anvil of time
And hammer of your mind
Gold bends for steel
And steel for will ever to be
Go,
My boy.