CHORUS

Mexicans, at the cry of battle

lend your swords and bridle;

and let the earth tremble at its center

upon the roar of the cannon.

Your forehead shall be girded, oh fatherland, with olive garlands

by the divine archangel of peace,

For in heaven your eternal destiny

has been written by the hand of God.

But should a foreign enemy

Profane your land with his sole,

Think, beloved fatherland, that heaven

gave you a soldier in each son.

CHORUS

II

War, war without truce against who would attempt

to blemish the honor of the fatherland!

War, war! The patriotic banners

saturate in waves of blood.

War, war! On the mount, in the vale

The terrifying cannon thunder

and the echoes nobly resound

to the cries of union! liberty!

CHORUS

III

Fatherland, before your children become unarmed

Beneath the yoke their necks in sway,

May your countryside be watered with blood,

On blood their feet trample.

And may your temples, palaces and towers

crumble in horrid crash,

and their ruins exist saying:

The fatherland was made of one thousand heroes here.

CHORUS

IV

Fatherland, fatherland, your children swear

to exhale their breath in your cause,

If the bugle in its belligerent tone

should call upon them to struggle with bravery.

For you the olive garlands!

For them a memory of glory!

For you a laurel of victory!

For them a tomb of honor!

Sent by Carlos Andr Pereira da Silva Branco