Текст песни Ф.Н.Глинка - Москва

A wonderful city, an ancient city,
You fit in your ends
And the gardens and villages
And the chambers and palaces!

Belted by arable land tape,
All of you are full of gardens;
How many temples, how many towers
On your seven hills! ..

Gigantic hand
You, as a charter, are developed,
And over the little river
He became great and famous!

On your old churches
Trees grow;
The eye does not grab the streets of long ...
This is mother Moscow!

Who, a strong man, will take in an armful
Hill of the Kremlin-hero?
Who will knock a golden hat
At the Ivan Ringer? ..

Who will raise the Tsar Bell?
Who will turn the Tsar Cannon?
Hats who, proud, will not take off
At the saints in the Kremlin gates ?!

You didn’t bend
In your disastrous fate:
Is the stepsons of Russia
Do not bow to you! ..

You burned like a martyr
White stone!
And the river was boiling in you
Flaming!

And under the ashes you lay
Full,
And you rose from the ashes
Invariably! ..

Prosper with eternal glory
The city of temples and chambers!
Middle hail, heart hail,
Native Russian city!