Who can count the sand in oceans,
Or the stars in skies at night?
Who can praise the sons of Georgia
Men who fought for Georgia's right?
Wonder speaks of deeds exalted
In a loud and ringing cry,
Of the grace of God and blessings
Shed upon our land from high.
Gone is all that former glory
Relics of it ever glow
In the colors of the rainbow,
Pouring light on us below.
A symbol chaste of Kingdoms seven,
Shining forth in colors bright,
Whispering: Georgia still is sleeping
For it waits the dawn of light!"

In pensive thought the Holy Mount
Upon the star of morn does gaze,
As o'er the valiant hero's grave
The star sheds soft and misty rays.

Here solemn silence reigns save that
The Mtkvari breathes in murmurs light;
The Mountain listens to the stream
As it hums to the sleeping knight.

Mtatsminda to its bosom folds
That tomb illustrious and grand,
And sends St. David fervent prayers
To shield fore'et his native land

O azure sky, O emerald earth,
I hasten to you, native strand;
I come, afflicted; ease my heart
That inly bleeds, O mother-land.

I stand entranced upon the Mount
And feel once more revived and whole.
My bosom swells, and then in song
I pour the worship of my soul.

Exiled from home I wandered on
And wept to live from you apart;
I yearned for you, to you made haste
With ardent soul and eager heart.

As I drew near, your sun and moon
Bid me glad welcome from on high;
The stars seemed conscious of my joy,
And shone the brighter in the sky.

O land of beauty and of song,
Your blossoms droop and withering sigh;
Restore them once again to life,
And dry the tears that blind the eye.

O azure sky, O emerald earth,
My one and only cherished land,
For your I live, for you I'll die,
For you I mourn, O native strand.

Protect and bless me - living, dead;
Refuse me not your sheltering care;
And when I die, of you I beg,
To heed and listen to my prayer:

Let me be buried in a grave
Upon your bosom, native strand,
With your green turf above my breast,
Beneath your skies, O mother-land.

The swallow twittered, shrill and gay,
-Arriving from across the main.
"This spring!' 'This spring!" it called to me;
My heart with hope was filled again.

I flung my window open wide;
How changed and fair was all the world!
And cleaving to my throbbing breast,
Delight its rosy wings unfurled.

Spring's fragrance filled the air; and I
Inhaled the sweetness, and was glad.
The future seemed so rosy that
I cried with joy: "O why be sad!"

I will attain my heart's desire
By wintry frosts made cold and drear;
In wedlock will all nature smile,
And Hymen's anthem will I hear.

Sweet is the essence of the rose;
The violet droops before my eye;
The nightingale her lays of love
Pours forth in thrilling melody.