By Theun de Vries

Translated from the Dutch by Vic Ratsma

Holland's mills, in somber weighty movement,
cast their view upon a low horizon
to carry the grey skies
of the old and passing year.

From the land of reeds and friendly streams
rises the west wind, like a strong young man,
rising up under his own weight,
and conquering both sea and land.

Speak now, words, quietly and charged
with all the power of this windswept land
greet the greatest of all comrades.
Sing for him this melody of Holland.

We know you: to us you are no stranger,
but the one imbued with all the patience
with which the mills, in their grey meadows
are filled, while milling eternally.

We know you for you have the firm
unassailable strength of basalt
that breaks the storm in fierce attacks
with which he assaults Holland's garden.

We know you, for you are the skipper
with the hard and dark brown hand
who guides the clipper along marsh and mud-flat
steadily to the safety of the land.

We know you for you have been created
from the same dark clay as we
in which all great images lie asleep
of a people, undivided and free.

With head raised above everyone
but with feet on motherlands' ground
that supports the lives of thousands
unrestricted and yet in secret bound.

Is it from the people that you took your courage,
from the people the dream, that keeps them alive
from the people all of the patient desire
from the people the will, that constructs and creates.

Leaders may go, but the people eternal
at the heart of the new order solemnly state
that together with our unforgettable leaders
Stands Stalin, – leader, brother, comrade!

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