Tired, fatigued, and half unconscious,
Pilgrims from a famished country,
From a land of sighs and wailing,
We pray, sire Čech, for our country.
Bless, that our father’s strength may increase,
That our infant children may grow strong.
Bless, that our skulls be hard as thy rocks,
To withstand the evil and wrong.
From a persecuted land we call,
Where the terrible fiend we must gorge—
Where the Dragon is master of all,
We beseech thee, help us, St. George!
Give us strength that we may do our work,
That each be filled from on high with strength.
That like you we may kill the Dragon
With a spear, and conquer at length.
From the mountain top where we can see
For miles, let the victorious hymn sound,
For our country again it is free,
And ours every valley and mound.