The players are there of cymbals and bells,
Worshipers gathered like holy cartels.
'Tis the choir of the most holy Deity,
His praises to vanish our anxiety.
This man witnessed and with his God there dwells
With living Cherubs by golden tassels.
Oh virgins of my birthplace, pure piety
Adorns thee, doing praise in chastity.
Charged high more than the monastery's prayer cells,
Is Zion, the mountain on which God's own dwells.
City of beauty in solemnity,
Is mount Zion, an enduring reality.
This man from Zion, among living Abels,
This man from Zion, in comp'ny of angels.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem