A lad comes out of the mountains
With his hurdy-gurdy in hand;
Thus, with his only belongings,
He wanders through the German countryside,
And on his journey, in all respects,
His singing sounds of German things:
German skies, German pastures,
He honors all that is German.

Yet he does not fare very well 
With his hurdy-gurdy in hand;
Weeping, he changes direction
And leaves his fatherland.
Now he turns his steps toward France,
And there, in every cottage, he continues to praise
German skies, German pastures;
He only sings German songs.

And thus, he must journey yet further,
Restlessly further into the world;
One hears him praise Germany,
From the Seine to the Belt.
And when he lays himself down at evening, 
He intones one of his songs:
Germany, your clear highlands
I will see once more.

His limbs become more tired,
And his mind becomes shrouded;
Shakily, once again he turns
His feet toward home.
And, reaching his goal, overcome with suffering,
He sings, still smiling, as he expires:
Germany, your clear highlands
I have indeed seen once more!