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Cry, the Beloved Country

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Cry, the beloved country,
That is the unborn child;
Cry, the beloved country,
The inheritor of our fear.
Let him not love the earth too deeply,
For the setting sun makes red the fire.
Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing,
For the titihoya does not cry here anymore.
Let him not give too much of his heart,
For the soil cannot hold them anymore.
Let him not stand too silent,
For the water will run through his fingers too gladly.
Let him not laugh,
But cry, the beloved country.
Cry, child. Cry!
Cry, the beloved country.





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