Sweet Virgin of Guadalupe,
oh virgin of the gentle eyes,
dark-eyed virgin, good Lady, my love,
painted by God's own hand
on the cloak of the Indian Juan Diego,
Sweet virgin, my love,
who commanded the bishop to build you a shrine,
where my brothers the Indians lived
in Tapeyepac in Mexico, outside the city.
Flogged and burned were these poor little ones,
despised, deceived and mocked,
my brothers the Indians.
A thousand times mistreated,
a thousand thousand killed.

What did you say to the bishop?
You will build me a house outside the city,
where I will wait, where I can hear the cries,
the pleas of my Indian children.

Sweet Virgin of Guadalupe,
oh virgin of the gentle eyes,
dark-eyed virgin, my girl,
my love, I want to ask you
this question, dear mother:

Why is it that in Spain,
on the far side of our hills and valleys,
across the sea,
why is there
another Virgin of Guadalupe,
Patron Saint of the Conquerors?
men with great beards,
men on horses,
men with swords and fire,
who crush and burn our homes,
and the Indians, your children, still inside?

Why is it, Sweet Virgin,
sweet mother,
why is there another Virgin of Guadalupe,
Patroness of the Conquerors?

Salve Mater coeli porta
Virga florens et exorta
David ex prosapia.