From the hills of Northeast India
Ka jingshai ka bteng lyngba ka bynta ba thylli,
Ym lyngba ki khmat kiba riewspah ha ka burom.
Ka mynsiem ba jem, ka jingkhih mut kaba khlaiñ,
Ka khot ia ki angel ban hiar na bneng.
Ym ki ba khlain kiba pynkhlaiñ ia ka kti jong U,
Hynrei kito kiba khlad bad pynlong ban ieng.
U pynkhlaiñ ia kiba rit, U pynjem ia kiba riewspah,
Kiba riewspah kin hap, kiba jem kin her!
The light shines through the broken edge,
Not through proud eyes on glory's ledge.
The humbled soul, the silent cry,
Draws angels down from higher sky.
It's not the strong that move His hand,
But those who fall and choose to stand.
He lifts the low, He shames the high,
The proud will fall, the meek will fly.