Spiewniczek

troubled, wildered and forlorn
dark benighted, travel-worn
and all heart-broke I heard her say:
„oh my children, does it cry?
does it hear its mother sigh?"

pitying I dropped a tear
but I saw a starbeam near
who replied:
„i am set to light you the ground
while your mother strives around
follow now the mother's groans
little wanderer, hurry home,
hurry home! "

little wanderer, hurry home!

sweet sleep, angel mild,
hover over me!
truth, be a lantern to my past!
I prepare my soul for flight,
prepare my head for death's cold hand
to hurry home

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