With battle cries whistling from your lips,

With fiery hearts you fell,

Yet your death so free, so holy to us,

Like a talisman, your martyrdom is dear to us.

And blood, so innocent,

Glowed on the white snow,

It will not disappear for years to come -

It will glow on our banners.

Peace to you! Your lips so silent,

But their silence will scream so loud...

And for years to come new regiments for the revolution

From an enslaved folk will grow.