Not for you does a fate like rosy morning
Gleam in the sky though storms of life are looming,
Not for you does hope rise in a new dawning,
Despair aye strikes her down and swift entombs her.
Tomorrow, house and bread - these are the gloomy
Thoughts you must tramp with your head drooping sorely,
To sweat for others and for self your doom is,
Then, weeping, to die hunger's death, forlornly.
Your song moans forth its threnodies of sorrow,
So that your woes before the eyes must hover,
That even now you change life for grave's furrow,
That o'er your land destruction's floods have gone, and
That others may dwell in their might forever,
You have no right even to die with honour.