Tú alfagra land mítt

I
Tú alfagra land mítt, mín dýrasta ogn!
á vetri so randhvítt, á sumri við logn,
tú tekur meg at tær so tætt í tín favn.
Tit oyggjar so mætar, Guð signi tað navn,
sum menn tykkum góvu, tá teir tykkum sóu.
Ja, Guð signi Føroyar, mítt land!

II
Hin roðin, sum skínur á sumri í líð,
hin ódnin, sum týnir mangt lív vetrartíð,
og myrkrið, sum fjalir mær bjartasta mál,
og ljósið, sum spælir mær sigur í sál:
alt streingir, ið tóna, sum vága og vóna,
at eg verji Føroyar, mítt land.

III
Eg nígi tí niður í bøn til tín, Guð:
Hin heilagi friður mær falli í lut!
Lat sál mína tváa sær í tíni dýrd!
So torir hon vága - av Gudi væl skírd -
at bera tað merkið, sum eyðkennir verkið,
ið varðveitir Føroyar, mítt land!

You fairest land of mine, my dearest own!
in winter so edge-white, in summer with calm,
you take me to you so tight in your embrace.
You islands so valuable, God bless the name
that men gave to you when they saw you.
Yes, God bless the Faroes, my land!

II
The red that you shine in summer on hillside,
the tempest that destroys many lives wintertime,
and the darkness that hides from me the brightest goal,
and the light that plays me victory in the soul:
all strings that sound, that dare and hope
that I defend the Faroes, my land!

III
I bow therefore down in prayer to you, God:
The holy peace, that I fall to fate!
Let my soul be washed itself in your glory!
So may it be dared – well cleansed by God –
to bear the flag that distinguishes the work
that preserves the Faroes, my land!