From his simple kind
Comes my rustic child,
Shows his heart and mind
To the world beguiled;
For him gardens bloom,
For him fields have grown,
Even in, the gloom
Of a world of stone.
Where in that man's breast
Glows a God-sent flame
Who with loyal zest
Loves the ancient name,
Where the men unite
Valiantly to face
Foes of honor's right—
There dwells freedom's race.
Ramparts, brazen doors
Still may bar the light,
Yet the spirit soars
Into regions bright;
For the fathers' grave,
For the church to fall,
And for dear ones—brave,
True at freedom's call—
That indeed is light,
Glowing rosy-red;
Heroes' cheeks grow bright
And more fair when dead.
Down to us, oh, guide
Heaven's grace, we pray!
In our hearts reside—
German hearts—to stay!
Freedom sweet and fair,
Trusting, void of fear,
German nature e'er
Was to thee most clear.