Tú alfagra land mítt

En féroïen
Tú alfagra land mítt,
mín dýrasta ogn!
á vetri so randhvítt,
á sumri við logn,
tú tekur meg at tær
so tætt í tín favn.
Tit oyggjar so mætar,
Gud signi tað navn,
sum menn tykkum góvu,
tá teir tykkum sóu.
Ja, Gud signi Føroyar, mítt land!

Hin roðin, sum skínur
á sumri í líð,
hin ódnin, sum týnir
mangt lív vetrartíð,
og myrkrið, sum fjalir
mær bjartasta mál,
og ljósið, sum spælir
mær sigur í sál:
alt streingir, ið tóna,
sum vága og vóna,
at eg verji Føroyar, mítt land.

Eg nígi tí niður
í bøn til tín, Gud:
Hin heilagi friður
mær falli í lut!
Lat sál mína tváa
sær í tíni dýrd!
So torir hon vága
- av Gudi væl skírd -
at bera tað merkið,
sum eyðkennir verkið,
ið varðveitir Føroyar, mítt land!

En anglais
My land, oh most beauteous,
possession most dear,
Thou drawest me to thee,
embracing me near;
becalmed in the summer,
in winter snow covered,
magnificant islands,
by God named beloved.
The name which men gave thee
when they thee discovered,
Oh, God bless thee, Faroes my land.

Bright gleam, which in summer
makes hill-tops so fair;
rough gale, which in winter drives men to despair;
oh life taking storm,
oh conquest of soul,
all making sweet music
uniting the whole.
Each hoping and trusting,
inspiring us all,
To guard thee, O Faroes my land.

And therefore, I kneel down,
to Thee God, in prayer,
may peaceful my lot be,
and do thou me spare,
my soul cleansed; in glory;
I ask Thee to bless,
when I raise my banner
and venture the stress.
The sign of my task, be
it lifted on high,
To guard the, O Faroes my land.

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