The bloom and fruit of golden unity.
Now, Europe, wondering, sees the furrows yield.
Here, on the verge of Prussia’s border,
Moulder the bones of Prussia’s warder:
Sound may he sleep when the coming thunder
Shall rock his castle walls asunder.
If dust ye seek, and dust alone,
Prince Bismarck sleeps beneath this stone,
But if his soul you seek, depart!
His Germans keep that in their heart.