And, moon, thy sleepless vigil keep
O’er our Armenian martyrs’ bones;
With the soft dews of Maytime steep
Their nameless funeral stones.
Armenia’s Stork, our summer guest,
And all ye hawks and eagles, come,
Watch o’er this land—’tis our bequest—
We leave to you our home.
About the ashes hover still,
Your nests among the ruins make;