Death springs to life:
Though brief and sad thy story,
Thy years all spent in care and gloom,
Look up, look up;
Eternity and glory
Dawn through the portals of the tomb.
How blest the Pilgrim, who in trouble
Can lean upon a bosom-friend;
Strength, courage, hope with him redouble,
When foes assail, or griefs impend; :
Care flees before his footsteps, straying,
At daybreak, o'er the purple heath ;
He plucks the wild flowers round him playing,
And binds their beauty in a wreath.
More dear to him the fields and mountains,
When with his friend abroad he roves,
Rests in the shade near sunny fountains,
Or talks by moonlight through the groves :
For him the vine expands its clusters,
Spring wakes for him her woodland quire;
Yea, when the storm of winter blusters,
'Tis summer round his evening fire.
In good old age serenely dying,
When all he loved forsakes his view,
Sweet is affection's voice replying,
“ I follow soon,” to his “ Adieu!”
Even then, though earthly ties are riven,
The spirit's union will not end;
— Happy the man, whom heaven hath given,
In life and death, a faithful friend.
Heaven speed the righteous sword,
And freedom be the word !
Come, brethren, hand in hand,
Fight for your father-land.
Germania from afar
Invokes her sons to war ;
Awake, put forth your powers,
And victory must be ours.
On to the combat, on!
Go where your sires have gone ;
Their might unspent remains,
Their pulse is in our veins.
On to the battle, on!
Rest will be sweet anon;
The slave may yield, may fly,
We conquer, or we die.
O Liberty! thy form
Shines through the battle-storm ;
Away with fear, away,
Let justice win the day.
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