For the fortune of destroyed irons of humiliation For this, that we dont live anymore in eternal shame For this, that poison has stopped strangle our throats For this, that cross of weak christ doesnt burn and doesnt prosecute For this, that biblical sin is ordinary absurd Im raising horn with drink and my right hand to Sun Im crushing sacriface provender Im swearing an oath Hearing The voice of Gods, the voice of ancestors Drum and horn are making sound Miraculous tone from divine Niwa living matter Im healthy,full of Faith Wened man With burning heart I will spread fire of Slavonic faith So on my tired motherland Lechia could rise and revived! And her folk could wake up from a nightmare Let thunder will hit me if I will abandon my task I swear to You my Gods and Forefathers!