Adopted in 1994




Limba noastr²-i o comoar²

In adīncuri īnfundat²

Un źirag de piatr² rap²

Pe moźie rev²rsat².

Limba noastra-i foc ce arde

Intr-un neam, ce f²r² veste

S-a trezit din somn de moarte

Ca viteazul din poveste.

Limba noastr²-i numai cīntec,

Doina dorurilor noastre,

Roi de fulgere, ce spintec

Nouri negri, z²ri albastre.

Limba noastr²-i graiul pīinii,

Cīnd de vīnt se miźc² vara;

In rostirea ei b²trīnii

Cu sudori sfinļit-au ļara.

Limba noastr²-i frunz² verde,

Zbuciumul din codrii veźnici,

Nistrul lin, ce-n valuri pierde

Ai luceferilor sfeźnici.

Nu veļi plīnge-atunci amarnic,

C² vi-i limba prea s²rac²,

Si-ļi vedea, cīt īi de darnic

Graiul ļ²rii noastre drag².




Limba noastr²-i vechi izvoade.

Povestiri din alte vremuri;

Ÿi citindu-le 'nźirate, -

Te-nfiori adīnc źi tremuri.

Limba noastr² īi aleas²

S² ridice slav²-n ceruri,

S² ne spiue-n hram źi-acas²

Veźnicele adev²ruri.

Limba noastr²-i limba sfīnt²,

Limba vechilor cazanii,

Care o plīng źi care o cīnt²

Pe la vatra lor ļ²ranii.




Inviaļi-v² dar graiul,

Ruginit de mult² vreme,

Ÿtergeļi slinul, mucegaiul

Al uit²rii 'n care geme.

Strīngeļi piatra lucitoare

Ce din soare se aprinde -

Ÿi-ļi avea īn revarsare

Un potop nou de cuvinte.

R²s²ri-va o comoar²

In adīncuri īnfundat²,

Un źirag de piatra r²r²

Pe moźie rev²rsat².





A treasure is our tongue that surges

From deep shadows of the past,

Chain of precious stones that scattered

All over our ancient land.

A burning flame is our tongue

Amidst a people waking

From a deathly sleep, no warning,

Like the brave man of the stories.

Our tongue is made of songs

From our soul's deepest desires,

Flash of lighting striking swiftly

Through dark clouds and blue horizons.


Our tongue is the tongue of bread

When the winds blow through the summer,

Uttered by our forefathers who

Blessed the country through their labour.

Our tongue is the greenest leaf

Of the everlasting forests,

Gentle river Nistru's ripples

Hiding starlight bright and shining.

Utter no more bitter cries now

That your language is too poor,

And you will see with what abundance

Flow the words of our precious country.




Our tongue is full of legends,

Stories from the days of old.

Reading one and then another

Makes one shudder, tremble and moan.

Our tongue is singled out

To lift praises up to heaven,

Uttering with constant fervour

Truths that never cease to beckon.

Our tongue is more than holy,

Words of homilies of old

Wept and sung perpetually

In the homesteads of our folks.




Resurrect now this our language,

Rusted through the years that have passed,

Wipe off filth and mould that gathered

When forgotten through our land.

Gather now the sparkling stone,

Catching bright light from the sun.

You will see the endless flooding

Of new words that overflow.

A treasure will spring up swiftly

From deep shadows of the past,

Chain of precious stones that scattered

All over our ancient land.