Pour not on it your gentle rain:—
’Tis drenched with streams of blood to-day
Shed by our brave ones slain.
Henceforth the rose and asphodel
No more shall on our plains appear;
But in the land where Vartan fell
Shall Faith her blossoms rear.
Fit monument to Vartan’s name,
Mount Ararat soars to the sky.
And Cross-crowned convents tell his fame,