Absalom Kumalo, I sentence you to be returned to custody, and to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.
Cry, the beloved country!
Cry, the beloved land!
The wasted childhood
The wasted childhood
The wasted youth
The wasted youth
The wasted man!
The wasted man!
Cry, the broken tribes
And the broken hills
And the right and wrong forsaken
The greed that destroys us
The birds that cry no more!
Cry, the beloved country!
Cry, the lost tribe
The lost son
The lost!
Will thou obey him and serve him, love, honor and keep him, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?
I will.
Cry, the unborn child
The inheritor of our fear
Let him not laugh too gladly in the water of the clove
Nor stand too silent when the setting sun
Makes the veld red with fire
You must go now.
Where I go, there will be no wife or child or father or mother. There is no food taken or given. And no marriage where I go.
Cry, the unborn son
Fatherless
Let him not be moved by the song of the bird
Nor give his heart to a mountain
Nor to a valley
Cry, the beloved country!
Cry, the beloved country!
Cry, the beloved land!
Cry, the beloved land!
Cry, the lost son
The lost tribe
The lost
The great red hills stand desolate
Cry, the beloved country!
And the earth has torn away like flesh
Cry, the beloved land!
These are the valleys
Of old men and women
Of mothers and children
Cry, the beloved land
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Frank Roane Lyrics – Cry, the Beloved Country