When the gold Njord lifts his head above grey waves of sea When Northern cold winds play a horn of a blizzard Leaving the refuges at the top of the world When the ice lumps grow on rocks of a fjord On coast decline branches under caps of snow When the night knocks at a door of houses When the Vikings are ready to seize the weapon In fear before old gods and it seems That to madness of elements there will be no limit Then the old men speak about the beard of Njord To a great beard of storm that flies above the world