H ija de mi pueblo, cíñete el cilicio y revuélcate en ceniza; haz duelo como por hijo único, lamento de gran amargura, porque de pronto el destructor vendrá sobre nosotros.
O daughter of my people, dress in cloth made from hair and roll in ashes. Have sorrow as if you lost your only son. Cry with a bitter cry. For all at once the destroyer will come upon us.
Continue reading Report error