It has been José Martí among us for hundred sixty eight years, accelerating the dawns of those difficult days when the sun seems not to want to leave; preaching springs when the blizzard threatens to dry the orchard; basting wills every time that the rain has sought to undo the knots that the Homeland has fomented among its children.
We have the Apostle, because their hundred sixty eight years of existing are the supreme justification of all that we make to deserve the sun, to challenge the blizzard and to face the rain. We have it near, partner, friend; effective in the star and in the verse; generous in their teaching’s offering; exact in the exercise of their endless example.
Because Martí belongs to the boy that the hope of the world is known; to the old man that has never been old to love and to be loved; to the sincere man that grows and he lives in loyal communion with the palm; to the learned woman and virtuoso that it sweetens and he makes invincible each work.
Hundred sixty eight years ago José Martí belongs to those who affiliate in the decree of the founders: those men and women of daily delivery that seize the doctrine martiana like tool of their acts to assure day by day reborning of the purest man in the race. Those men and women for who every day is a new January twenty-eight.
Translated by Julio Alberto Jiménez Ruiz