O mother! hear thy country's plea: Nurture thy sons with spirits strong Led by the torch of truth whose flame Will banish ignorance and wrong. - Ilia Chavchavadze

The wood is decked in light green leaf. The swallow twitters in delight. The lonely vine sheds joyous tears Of interwoven dew and light. <p> Spring weaves a gown of green to clad The mountain height and wide-spread field. O when wilt thou, my native land, In all thy glory stand revealed?

Ah here, O mother is thy task, Thy sacred duty to thy land: Endow thy sons with spirits strong, With strength of heart and honor bright; Inspire them with fraternal love, To strive for freedom and for right.

No sound doth great the still of night; My mother land in silence lies; Yet oft is heard an anguished moan As Georgia in her slumber sighs. <p> I stand alone … the mountains, shades The slumber of my land caress. O God! O God! when will we wake And rise again to happiness?