O land of our fathers, suffering, belovèd,
Bow not your head ’neath the foot of the murderer!
And you, busy bees, fling yourselves now
In swarms ’gainst the hornets of Spain.
And you bodies of women and girls
That are buried alive
Cry to Christ: Vengeance!
Wander by night in the fields, poor souls,
Cry to God!
Every arm now trembles to strike.