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