With a crimson ball in her arm
Morn appears with rosy cheeks
And wakens sweet Silence from her dreams
Of the moon and jewelled stars of Night.
And Silence glad inclines her conched ears
To hear the whispers of the breeze,
The flap of wings, the ditties of birds
And the serene melodies of waking thoughts.

This is the day… this the day
Each rose shalt blow without the thorn
And each bee shed its thorny sting.
This is the day which returns with Spring
To mark this glorious day of days
On which our beloved Queen was born…
Yea, Bhairavi our beloved Queen…

The priests in every house of worship
Chant thy name and hymn thy praise,
For thou always bend thine ear
To list to the poor man’s plight;
And thy starry eye and moonlight smile
Illumines the peasant’s sorrowed heart.
Thou was born to create and not to destroy,
Was born to fulfil the eternal law-
Whenever adharma waxes and dharma wanes-
To take a human shape on earth
And strengthen the arms of those who toil
And wipe from their eyes the tears they shed.

Yet ’tis true, though strange it seem, that thou
Wast never born nor canst ever die,
But hast ever been and is and shall be,
The alpha and omega, the beginning and end!
Each chaste heart is thine, where enshrined
Deign to accept this our solemn hymn.