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The genial wind from the south
Blows on the heart of that jujube tree ,
Till that heart looks tender and beautiful .
What toil and pain did our mother endure !

The genial wind from the south
Blows on the branches of that jujube tree ,
Our mother is wise and good ;
But among us there is none good .

There is the cool spring
Below [the city of] Jun .
We are seven sons ,
And our mother is full of pain and suffering .

The beautiful yellow birds
Give forth their pleasant notes .
We are seven sons ,
And cannot compose our mother's heart .