Thou hast made our heart gay.
Descend, O Stork!
Descend, O Stork, upon our roof,
Make thy nest upon our ash-tree.
I will tell thee my thousand sorrows,
The sorrows of my heart, the thousand sorrows,
Stork, when thou didst go away,
When thou didst go away from our tree,
Withering winds did blow,
They dried up our smiling flowers.