For he, who ever ready stands
To give his life, alone is safe
From all the perils of the storm.
But we are held by shameful grief,
The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears,
By the ashes of our fatherland
Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame,120
Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms.
Thou dost pursue the fortunate,
O death, but fleest from wretched souls.