Cry, the Beloved Country - Kurt Weill, Frank Roane

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