America

Oh, America, I am praising you with poems at the altar of freedom,
I am voicing my verses in crimson forests and golden deserts,
Like the echo of an ancient prophecy;
You shall be a spiritual home to many faithful!
A home to many languages and prayers!
A home to magnificent human dreams!
In many fogs, your proud name shall wander
Like the prayer of a lost mariner.

When the horrible drums of war echoes along distant frontiers,
Your name echoed louder than cannonball thunder.
When horrible greed beats the drums of treason,
Your name is a bulwark of faith.
Many a tear was shed for you,
And even more blood.
You are a mother to patriots,
A nymph with many faces to greed,
An endless inspiration to poets.

Many people roam the seas and land,
Poverty drives them along old paths to the new world,
Their faces are bright with hope
That their throats might loudly utter your name in the end,
That they may finally walk the Promised Land.

When the noble winds invoke the names of your heroes,
The deaf night shall wave its black flag,
The murmur of the rain shall be quieter still,
And fogs will rule the graveyards,
So that the ghosts of your heroes may be at piece.

Oh, America, when your flag is waved by noble freedom,
How proudly the faces of your sons and daughters shine;
How mighty your name sounds in the noble throat of a hero,
Voice yourself for a long, long time to come!