Who would know that greatness in you,

Maker of heaven and earth,

in you who made the stars and moon,

in you who made the day and moon?

In long ages past the earth was fashioned,

in long ages past were people created,

today we should be terror-stricken

at all these horrors we encounter.

Halahoyi, Africans, something stinks

like the ground snake, fouling the air;

it's quite at home in orchards,

lovely at rest on the plains.

David in troubled times

spilt water from a well,

a libation to Jehovah:

Africa, weep till you shake.

Whatever your doubts, please come back,

those glittering baubles aren't for you.

David says, “These are my words;

tell your people I'm the one talking.”

I say you'll come back, screaming and kicking,

whether you like it or not.

If you don't come back you'll surely die:

there's a voice that's quite explicit.

Ethiopia should get involved,

find support in the Scriptures,

seek the truth from those above,

who died here and in the water.

Lord, for long you've been our home:

this land of Africa's our land.

Those who came by ship shouldn't fool themselves:

the Prince of Heaven's wide awake.

Come back today, Greybeard of ours,

and rip out the tree by its roots,

so we watch the dark ones dance,

and creatures come out to bask in the sun.

Here we are, asleep with one eye.

We'll get the news: we'll watch with the other.

We never took part in those prayers of yours

so particularly pitted against the black.

Our fathers bore the yoke together,

together they snapped the traces,

in the forest they slew a lion,

dealt with the preying wolf.

Lord, bless Africa.

From the start of time you fell to rise,

you created this earth on which we live,

parted its nations by sea.

Who would know that greatness in you,

Maker of heaven and earth?

Agree! Yes, in truth, we agree with you,

who scold the thundering skies.

Peace! Awu!!