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

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?

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.

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?