Our great ship is heavy like a book
Fish fins move verses in every nook.
Singers from on high cast off the mighty sails.
This is what our gracious Lady Mother hailed.
Our Ancient ship has treasures that abound
It sways the golden sheaves arising from the ground.
It’s lifted to the river ever oh so stately, ever oh so stably,
Ever oh so silently, ever oh so submersedely.
Our slow ship sails abounding with song,
Burning away darkness with signal flames so long,
It sails to the very edge, it sails to the very brink
Looking for a land of love and longing to link.
This is our land, ever oh so laureled by its language into
Her grass hued with June, into her tinted trails of winter
Into the warmth of her carols, into the likeness to her flowers.
We know who we are and we know where we’re from—it’s ours.
The bird reappears with a branch of a cherry tree.
The constellations burn—on high, supremely.
In the shadow of the bird our ship caresses the sand.
The name Ukraine will be given to this land.