Our land, our land, our fatherland,
Sound loud, O name of worth!
No mount that meets the heaven's band
No hidden vale, no wavewashed strand
Is loved, as is our native North
Our own forefathers' earth
Thy blossom, in the bud laid low,
Yet ripened shall upspring
See! From our love once more shall grow
Thy light, thy joy, thy hope, thy glow!
And clearer yet one day shall ring
The song our land shall sing
Sent by Carlos André Pereira da Silva Branco