Not yet Rizal, not yet. Sleep not in peace;
There are a thousand waters to be spanned;
There are a thousand mountains to be crossed;
There are a thousand crosses to be borne.
Our shoulders are not strong, our sinews are
Grown flaccid with dependence, smug with ease
Under another’s wing. Rest not in peace;
Not yet Rizal, not yet.
The land has need of young blood
And what younger than your own
Forever spilled in the great name of freedom.
Forever oblate on the altar
The free? Not you alone Rizal.
O souls and spirits of the martyred brave, arise!
Arise and scour the land!
Shed once again your willing blood!
Infuse the vibrant red into our thin, anemic veins;
Until, we pick up your Promethean tools and strong,
Out of the depthless matrix of your faith—
In us and on the silent cliffs of freedom
We carve for all time your marmoreal dream!
Until our people, seeing, are become
Like the molave, firm, resilient, staunch
Rising on the hillside, unafraid
Strong in its own fibre, yes, like the molave!
We the Filipinos of today, are soft, easygoing,
Parasitic, frivolous, inconstant, indolent, inefficient.
Would you have me sugarcoat you?
I would be happier to shower praise upon my countrymen…
But let us be realist let us strip ourselves…
Youth of the land, you are a bitter pill to swallow.