Va Para El Cielo

Go, thought, on golden wings
Go, settle on the slopes, on the hills
Where warm and soft
The sweet breezes of the native land scent!
Greet the banks of the Jordan
The fallen towers of Zion
Oh my homeland, so beautiful and lost!
Oh memory so dear and fatal!

Golden harp of the fateful prophets
Why do you hang mute from the willow?
Rekindle the memories of the heart
Speak to us of times gone by!
Oh, like the fate of Jerusalem
Draw a sound of harsh lament
Or may the Lord inspire you a harmony
That infuses virtue into suffering
Into suffering virtue!