Limba noastră

Limba noastra ( German Our Language ) since 1994 has been the national anthem of Moldova. The text was written by Alexei Mateevici (1888-1917) and set to music by Alexandru Cristea ( 1890-1942 ). The original poem consists of twelve stanzas, of which five were chosen for the anthem. These appear in the below text as bold.

Importance

Although it is not explicitly mentioned in the text to which language it is, the Romanian language is it sung, which is spoken by the majority of the population and is since 1989 official language. Given the past Moldova's the anthem is therefore an expression of freedom and independence from the Soviet Union. Nevertheless, Moldova continues to be a multi-ethnic state in which speak not only in the two autonomous regions, many people do not or hardly Romanian.

Text

Limba noastra -i o Comoara În adâncuri înfundată Un Sirag de Piatra RARA Pe Mosie revărsată.

Limba noastra - foc i ce arde Intr -un neam, ce veste Fara S -a trezit din somn de moarte Ca Brave din Poveste.

Limba noastra -i numai Cantec, Doina dorurilor noastre, Roi de fulgere, ce SPINTEC Nouri negri, zari albastre.

Limba noastra -i graiul pâinii, Cand se de Vant Misca vara; In rostirea an bătrânii Cu Sudori sfinţit -au Tara.

Limba noastra -i frunză verde, Zbuciumul din Codrii veşnici, Nistrul lin, ce -n Valuri pierde Ai luceferilor sfeşnici.

Nu Veti Plange - atunci amarnic, CA VI -i limba prea Saraca, Şi -Ti Vedea, CAT II de darnic Graiul Ţării noastre Draga.

Limba noastra -i vechi izvoade. Povestiri din old vremuri; Şi citindu -le ' nşirate, - Te - nfiori adânc şi tremuri.

Limba noastra ïî aleasă Să ridice slava -n ceruri, Să ne spiue -n hram - şi ACASA Veşnicele adevăruri.

Limba Limba Sfânta noastra -i, Limba vechilor cazanii, Care o plang şi care o canta Pe la vatra lor ţăranii.

Înviaţi -VA is graiul, Ruginit de multa vreme, Stergeţi slinul, mucegaiul Al uitării 'n geme care.

Strângeţi piatra lucitoare Ce se din soare aprinde - Şi -Ti avea în revărsare Un nou de Potop cuvinte.

Răsări -va o Comoara În adâncuri înfundată, Un Sirag de Piatra RARA Pe Mosie revărsată.

Our language is a treasure In the depths closed A chain of precious stones Scattered on our country.

Our language is a burning fire In the midst of a people without message Woke up from the sleep of death is, Like the hero of the tale.

Our language are just songs The expression of our deep longing, A swarm of lightning, by stabbing Black clouds, blue horizons.

Our language is the language of the bread When the wind rustles in the summer; With their words and their sweat Did the ancients blessed the land.

Our language is a green leaf The rustle of the eternal forests, The gentle Dniester, in the waves Loses the Starlights.

You will no longer complain bitterly That your language is too poor And you will see how generous The language of our dear country.

Our language is old documents, Stories from other times. And while you read them in sequence About If you deep shuddering and trembling.

Our language has been selected To boast the sky, To us in church and at home Eternal truths to say.

Our language is a sacred language, The language of the old sermons Is the crying and singing Of the farmers in their home.

Bring you back to life the language In Rusts of the long time Wipe away the dirt and mildew Of forgetting, in which she moans.

Now collecting the shiny stone, The is lit by the sun. And you will have in abundance A new flood of words.

It will ascend a treasure In the depths closed A chain of precious stones Scattered on our country.