Root some joy in these soils

Coat its beauty into a smile

And gift it to Holland to wear

 

Blue skies singing 

By the grace of the farmers’ hands,

Our children will eat breakfast tomorrow

For bruised is every land except ours 

 

These dreams will climb a good height, and

Who am I to referee between here and there

Isn’t the grass greener where it is nicely watered?

 

A smile the neighborhood feeds

Replenishing everything charred

And on my lips plays the praise of this land

 

Sing a song for the skies

Sing a song for the birds

Sing a song for the tulips

Sing a song for the farmer’s wife

As the rain falls and breathes life into Holland again.