The storm chases swiftly our years,
like skies over seas.
Barely your gentle spring lit up, year,
And so, the glance fades away.
Your summer flowering is gone,
Have thanks for what you gave,
If only you gave a rose
To place on a grave.

Thou force over winds and skies,
Thou force over lives and years,
Who constantly everything renews
And everything shatters,
You stand with destinies and with hours
in the evening glow of Yule tide,
and the seed glimmers
in the hand of the sowing man.

Give Psalter and lyre
in laborious times.
Do not deny us the precious,
The sweet desire to sing.
Let our days resound
As wind in green fields,
Like waving seas.

Give us a hearth to enjoy
Our shared bread.
Give us a breast to lean to
When joy turns into need.
Give us faith to rely on,
Safely in the dark of death.