Calvin Synod Herald, 1976 (76. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1976-07-01 / 7-8. szám

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CALVIN SYNOD HERALD

C}Qábóczi ^/Marcit

God of the Magyars! Destroy the Labanc traitors! Soon the hour is coming for the battle’s drumming, When the Magyar’s valiant spirit and his sword’s victorious merit

Save this grieving land from its haters. Hey!

Brave Rákóczi’s people, forward, ye Kurucok!

Ah, ye were glorious, bravely victorious over the foeman!

Curse all traitors, good to no man!...

Danger returns, see, they betray their country, Comes the terrible army of wreckers.

Hey, where are gone all the valiant knights?

The champions!

How hard the fate waiting

Our people’s thousands in their flight,

The head of many a strong-heart knight,

Fugitive, dire in plight!

Lofty our banner now gleams in air!

This proud nation once again will stand erect!

This proud nation once again will stand erect, Making our motto this holy prayer:

Let the Magyar live in freedom, or let death be his share

For our oaths we have sworn by God, whom Magyars worship forever,

That by the edge of the sword, while Magyars live, We’ll not yield to slavery — never!

Translated by Watson Kirkconnell

RÁKÓCZI

When Hungary’s Freedom raised its cry,

And stirring hearts sought liberty,

Then countless banners filled the sky,

Incribed with one word — Rákóczi!

Ah, Rákóczi! of princely fame,

Of beauteous Transylvania, —

A nobelman who gave his name,

To stifle the wild mania,

Which made all Magyars humble slaves,

Barred from a free religious thought —

Brave Magyars who preferred their graves — That freedom with their lives be bought!

Then up rose noble Rákóczi With soul afire, and heart aflame;

With patriotic ecstasy

He stood to shield the Magyar name.

At Széchen and at fair Ónod,

The nobles planned a nation free,

With liberty to worship God,

Released from Hapsburg dynasty.

And they acclaim then as their guide,

This nobleman, God’s gift divine,

Their champion, fair Hung’ry’s pride,

The hero of the peasants’ shrine.

Brave Rákóczi stood at the call,

And saw the blood drench native field,

And sadly saw his banner fall,

While broken was his warrior’s shield.

At Nagyszombat he assailed,

And on the field of brave Zsibó,

And valorous, he never quailed Before the onslaught of the foe.

He fought and lost — but yet he won,

Despite dark Trencsén’s fateful hour —

He saw the glorious Freedom’s sun

Frown on the tyrants’ ruthless power.

Fortuna had wthheld her smile,

The Cause had yielded to defeat,

While Rákóczi dwelt in exile,

To end the patriots’ sad retreat.

At far Rodostó his worn soul

Found peace with his eternal God;

Although he failed of his high goal,

His spirit e’er will onward plod.

And now he rests in native soil,

Beloved of high or low degree,

Who loved him for his ceaseless toil —

This freedom-lover, Rákóczi.

Far from Hungaria’s pantheon His spirit e’er shall outward swell,

For He the people's love had won,

And in their hearts shall ceaseless dwell.

Herman A. Heydt

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