As the sun submerged beneath the water
All crimson and beautiful,
The little birds fell silent and drifted off,
Wanting to return to their nests.
Now rises the pale moon
Into the blue heavens,
In the midst of a host of stars
It makes its entrance.
As it gazes down upon the course of the Ganges,
Flowing across the wide world
With its lovely shining silvery glow,
The waves lap quietly.

How often has the golden plumage appeared of
The sun dipping into the river
Since my lover departed,
How often has it shone his rays,
That moon, over my torments,
Since he stopped darkening my doorstep,
And still no cloud, no wave
Brings me news of him or his whereabouts.

But now I can’t stand any longer
This pain of anxiously doubting,
I’d rather know my fate
And accept my unhappiness.
Now you shall, oh flickering lamp,
Be a holy oracle for me.

So I turn my steps toward you,
O holy Ganges!
Where the plane trees
Arch into a high, noble cathedral
I want to trust to your current
This little glowing lamp.

It is written in the holy books,
That a loved one must still still alive
If a lamp remains burning brightly as it floats away,
Until it disappears from view.

Master of the waves, Master of the tides,
Oh tell the swift, to the holy flood,
It should gently bear my lamp.
Lord of the tides, Lord of the waves, 
Oh tell the bright, the twinkling light,
It must not flicker out!

Now, little lamp, float down the river,
My trembling gaze follows you,
If the tide becomes your dark grave,
My life will also wither away.
	Woe is me! I can’t see it!
	Lost is the light,
But no, it glows!
Now rejoice in my song!

Now I wouldn’t trade places with them,
Those who undulate in everlasting light,
Now I don’t envy the choir of virgins,
Who float beyond Eden’s Gate,
Who Allah called 
To the steps of his throne,
	
He’s alive, he’s alive, he will return,
now sound songs of jubilation!