1, China, standing on the high scaffold.
China is standing on a high scaffold.
Build by laying bricks or stones with one dawn after another
A pair of eyes.
One lip after another.
Every gust of wind sings.
Your golden sweat drops
The sun above your head
It's spinning
Combine concrete, steel and prosperity
Invest in your ideal.
I heard that on a solid foundation
There are countless souls shouting.
Full of hope.
Rough palms, darkness
The tide on the beach has ebbed.
What rises is the ancient horizon
And your strong arms
China, the wind in the Pacific Ocean.
Smoked your forehead.
You work silently and put your memories
Pain, poverty and fantasy
Build by laying bricks or stones into the towering walls one by one
China, put me in, too
My once disappointed chest
Can break the Pacific Ocean.
The biting wind and waves hit.
China is standing on a high scaffold.
Building bricks with one baby after another.
One wish after another
Heart after heart.
Every white cloud is gently erased.
Your noble fatigue
On your head, blue
The sky is singing.
Fall on your shoulder
China is standing on a high scaffold.
2, "Motherland, My Dear Motherland" Shu Ting
I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river.
Old songs that have been spun for hundreds of years.
I am a miner's lamp with your forehead blackened.
When you grope in the tunnel of history.
I am a withered ear of rice; This is a roadbed that is in disrepair.
This is a barge on the beach.
Draw the rope deep
Pull it into your shoulder
-the motherland!
I am very poor.
I am sad
I am your ancestor.
Painful hope.
It's a flying sleeve.
Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years
-Motherland
I am your brand-new ideal.
Just broke free from the mythical spider web.
I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow.
I am your tearful smile.
I am the newly painted white starting line.
This is crimson dawn.
Spraying
-Motherland
I am one billionth of you.
Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters.
With your scarred breasts,
raise
Lost me, considerate me, boiling me.
And then from my flesh and blood
get
Your richness, your glory, your freedom.
-Motherland
my dear motherland
3. The author of "Ideal" Liu Shahe (Yu Xuntan, Jintang, Sichuan)
Ideal is a stone, knocking out a single spark;
Ideal is fire, lighting the extinguished lamp;
Ideal is a lamp that illuminates the road at night;
Ideal is the road that leads you to the dawn.
In the age of hunger and cold, the ideal is food and clothing;
In the era of food and clothing, ideal is civilization.
In chaotic times, the ideal is stability.
In a stable era, the ideal is prosperity.
Ideals are like pearls, one after another,
Throughout the ages, the future is endless.
Beautiful pearl chain, the backbone of history,
The past shines today, the present shines now, and the ancestors shine on their children.
Ideal is a compass to guide ships;
Ideal is a ship, carrying you to sea for a long voyage.
But the ideal is sometimes the arc of kissing between the sea and the sky.
It's beyond your tolerance and tortures your enterprising heart.
Ideal makes you smile and observe life;
Ideal makes you stubbornly resist fate.
Ideal makes you forget the early gray hair on your temples;
Ideal makes your head white and naive.
Ideal is an alarm clock to break your golden dream;
Ideal is soap to wash away your selfishness.
Ideal is not only an acquisition,
Ideal is a kind of sacrifice.
If ideals bring you honor,
That's just a by-product of it,
But more is misunderstood loneliness,
Laughter in loneliness, bitterness in laughter.
Ideal makes honest people often suffer misfortune;
Ideals keep the unfortunate people alive.
Ordinary people are great because they have ideals;
The ideal person is a "capitalized person".
There are always people in the world who have abandoned their ideals.
Ideals never abandon anyone.
Give new life to sinners, and ideal is the immortal grass that revives the soul;
Call the prodigal son back, the ideal is a loving mother.
The ideal has been defiled, so there is no need to resent it.
That's the devil testing your loyalty;
Ideal has been pickpocketed, don't cry,
Go get it back, and be careful in the future!
The hero lost his ideal and became a mediocre man.
Exaggerated the achievements of the year;
Mediocre people have lost their ideals and lived all their lives.
Ridiculously cursing the immediate environment.
Ideal flowering, peaches and plums should bear sweet fruit;
The ideal bud, elm poplar will have thick shade.
Please get on the ideal horse and start here with a whip.
Spring is just on the road and the sky is sunny.