On the divine Tree
the Harp is hanged.      
It is David's Harp,
cherished in Sion.

Its peg is made of gold, 
its strings of silver,
yet, in it, 
love is no longer chanted
only seven laments
of grief and longing.

Heaven was opening,
while hell was closing itself
and, to the heart of its God 
the Earth is attached.  

With a final wail 
the day comes to an end,
and stones break themselves
colliding with each other. 

Likewise, breaks the heart
of a Virgin Mother
that, hearing those sounds,
cried in the shadow:

- Angels of Heaven,
take the Harp down,
it is hanged so high
that I cannot reach to it;

Please, bring it down for me,
yet careful that, from branch to
branch, its case and strings
don't get brushed.

Place it on my bosom, 
so that I can play it;
in case it lost its sound,
I will give it back:

If it hasn't lost it,
I will die embracing 
my golden Harp
that once rejoiced the world!