Nothing I, or the Vice President, or the Governor, none of the speakers here today, nothing we say can fill the hole they leave in your hearts, or the absence that they leave in your lives. If any comfort can be found, it can, perhaps, be found by seeking the face of God -- (applause) -- who quiets our troubled minds, a God who mends our broken hearts, a God who eases our mourning souls.
无论我、副总统、州长，或是今天致悼词的任何一个人，都不能说出任何话语，可以填补你们因痛失亲人心中的创伤。
Even as we mourn 29 lives lost, we also remember 29 lives lived. Up at 4:30 a.m., 5:00 in the morning at the latest, they began their day, as they worked, in darkness. In coveralls and hard-toe boots, a hardhat over their heads, they would sit quietly for their hour-long journey, five miles into a mountain, the only light the lamp on their caps, or the glow from the mantrip they rode in.
尽管我们在哀悼这29条逝去的生命，我们同样也要纪念这29条曾活在世间的生命。凌晨4点半起床，最迟5点，他们就开始一天的生活，他们在黑暗中工作。穿着工作服和硬头靴，头戴安全帽，静坐着开始一小时的征程，去到五英里远的矿井，唯一的灯光是从他们头戴的安全帽上发出的，或是进入时矿山沿途的光线。
Day after day, they would burrow into the coal, the fruits of their labor, what so often we take for granted: the electricity that lights up a convention center; that lights up our church or our home, our school, our office; the energy that powers our country; the energy that powers the world.
日以继夜，他们挖掘煤炭，这也是他们劳动的果实，我们对此却不以为然:这照亮一个会议中心的电能;点亮我们教堂或家园、学校、办公室的灯光;让我们国家运转的能源;让世界维持的能源。
And most days they d emerge from the dark mine, squinting at the light. Most days, they d emerge, sweaty and dirty and dusted from coal. Most days, they d come home. But not that day.