Jehovah, replenish our days on earth,

as you did in the time of our fathers.

Did you forsake us forever,

Great Place for weaning children?

Now we're something the cook tosses out,

condemned for intermarriage;

to our sons and daughters we're all one nation

of black people under the sun.

Those are the wailings, my people!

Take heart! Consider our country,

speak as of old in Hintsa's voice.

(The names of kings confuse me.)

Are you gathered in bundles for threshing?

Your recklessness is rampant.

Induce birth pangs in your people

as in Ngubengcuka's time.

You see, my people, we're old,

truth threw us long ago;

the truth is found in scriptures

and also within our blankets.

The days of darkness are done,

the age of ignorance over:

let's formulate plans for our future,

or we'll struggle along one by one.

Are you gathered in bundles for threshing?

Your recklessness is rampant.

How do you live in constant strife,

in ignorance and conceit?

Living like this, can you have a country?

Living like this, can you have a home?

As we idly bicker we're left in the dust

and Africa slips through our fingers forever.

The whites are united against the blacks,

the Coolies and Chinese against the blacks.

Are you gathered in bundles for threshing?

Your recklessness is rampant.

Unity's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us:

all enemies will be crushed by it,

and the pillars of heaven shattered.

We bark for you, my people,

confronting those who pick us clean.

What nation is this whose milk

lacks strength to reach the milksack?

Today Africa yields no milk.

Is there no one among the elders

to bear this report to the One on High,

to burn his first son as sacrifice?

Peace!