| Faroese original[3] | IPA transcription[a] | Literal English translation |
|---|---|---|
| I 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, Guð signi tað navn, sum menn tykkum góvu, tá teir tykkum sóu. Ja, Guð signi Føroyar, mítt land! II 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. III Eg nígi tí niður í bøn til tín, Guð: 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! | 1 [tʉu̯ː ˈal̥.fa.g̊ra̯ː lant mʊi̯t mʊi̯n tʊi̯ː.ɹas.ta ɔg̊n] [ɔaː ˈveː.tɹɪ soː ˈɹan(t).kvʊi̯t (ɔ̯)aː ˈsʊm.ɹɪ viː lɔkn] [tʰʉu̯ː ˈtʰeː.kʊɹ meː ɛa̯ːʰt tʰɛa̯ːɹ soː tʰatː(ʰ) ʊi̯ː tʰʊi̯ːjn fau̯n] [tʰiːt ˈɔd.d͡ʒaɹ soː ˈmɛa̯ːʰ.taɹ kuː(t) ˈsɪk.nɪ tʰɛa̯ nau̯n] [sʊmː mɛnː ˈtʰɪʰ.kun ˈɡɔu̯.ʋʊ tʰɔɑ̯ː tʰai̯ːɹ ˈtʰɪʰ.kun ˈsɔu̯.wʊ] [jɛa̯ː kuː(t) ˈsɪk.nɪ ˈfœɹ.jaɹ mʊi̯t lant] 2 [hiːn ˈɹoː.jɪn suːmː ˈskʊi̯.nʊɹ (ɔ̯)aː ˈsʊm.ɹɪ ʊi̯ː lʊi̯ː] [hiːn ˈœt.nɪn sʊmː ˈtʰʊi̯.nɪɹ mɛŋ(k)t lʊi̯ːv ˈveː.tɹaɹ.tʰʊi̯ːj] [o(ɔ̯)ː ˈmɪʂ.kɹɪ sʊmː ˈfjaː.lɪɹ mɛa̯ːɹ ˈbjaʂ.tas.ta mɔɑ̯ːl] [o(ɔ̯)ː ˈljɔu̯ː.sɪ sʊmː ˈspɛa̯ː.lɪɹ mɛa̯ːɹ ˈsiː.jʊɹ ʊi̯ː sɔɑ̯ːl] [al̥t ˈstɹaɲ.d͡ʒɪɹ ʊi̯ːj ˈtʰɔu̯.na sʊmː vɔː.(w)a oː vɔu̯ː.na] [ɛa̯ːʰt eː ˈvɛɹ.jɪ ˈfœɹ.jaɹ mʊi̯t lant] 3 [eː ˈnʊi̯ː.jɪ tʰʊi̯ː ˈniː.jʊɹ ʊi̯ː bøːn tʰiːl tʰʊi̯ːjn kuː(t)] [hiːn ˈhai̯ː.la.jɪ ˈfɹiː.jʊɹ mɛa̯ːɹ fat.lɪ ʊi̯ː luː(t)] [lɛa̯ːt sɔɑ̯ːl ˈmʊi̯.na tʰvɔː.(w)a sɛa̯ɹ ʊi̯ː tʰʊi̯.nɪ tʊɹt] [soː ˈtʰoː.ɹɪɹ hoːn vɔː.(w)a ɛa̯ːʋ kuː.tɪ vɛa̯ːl skʊɹt] [ɛa̯ːʰt ˈpeː.ɹa tʰɛa̯ ˈmɛʂ.t͡ʃɪ sʊmː ˈɛ(j)ʰ.tʃɛn.nɪɹ vɛʂ.t͡ʃɪ] [ʊi̯ːj ˈvaɹ.vai̯.tɪɹ ˈfœɹ.jaɹ mʊi̯t lant] | I You fairest land of mine, my dearest own! in winter so edge-white, in summer with calm, you take me to you so tight in your embrace. You islands so valuable, God bless the name that men gave to you when they saw you. Yes, God bless the Faroes, my land! II The red that you shine in summer on hillside, the tempest that destroys many lives wintertime, and the darkness that hides from me the brightest goal, and the light that plays me victory in the soul: all strings that sound, that dare and hope that I defend the Faroes, my land! III I bow therefore down in prayer to you, God: The holy peace, that I fall to fate! Let my soul be washed itself in your glory! So may it be dared – well cleansed by God – to bear the flag that distinguishes the work that preserves the Faroes, my land! |
| Metered Danish translation (by Tormod Jørgensen, 1928)[2] | Metered English translation[3] |
|---|---|
| I O, Færø så fager, min dyreste skat! Når vinterstorm brager, i lun sommernat du drager derude mig hjem i din favn. I øer så prude, Gud signe det navn, som fædrene gav jer, da de fandt bag hav jer. Ja, Gud signe Færø, mit land. II Hin solglans, som svæver om sommergrøn lid, og stormen, som kræver mangt liv vintertid, og mørket, som dølger mig fjeldryg og tind, og lyset, som bølger og hvisker i sind: Alt strenge, som klinger og lønligt mig tvinger at værge dig, Færø, mit land. III Mit knæ vil jeg bøje i bøn til dig, Gud: Din fred, o du høje, lad bringe mig bud! Min sjæl vil sig sænke i dit nådebad, så tør den vel tænke – frimodig og glad –. at frembære mærket, som vidner om værket, der tjerner dig, Færø, mit land! | I My land, oh most beauteous, possession most dear, Thou drawest me to thee, embracing me near; becalmed in the summer, in winter snow covered, magnificent islands, by God named beloved. The name which men gave thee when they thee discovered, Oh, God bless thee, Faroes my land. II 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. III 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 thee, O Faroes my land. |