Lit up by present hope
As jewels light the mine.
O fair Moselle! O sweetest Maid!
Who, dancing on midst sun and shade,
Hast left thy distant mountain home,
Through woods and valleys thus to roam;
May no sad shade thy life o’erspread,
No storm break o’er thy beauteous head,
But ever may thy fair wave glide
Peaceful, as when Meurthe’s sparkling tide