English translations of Vier Quartette für Sopran, Alt, Tenor und Bass, opus 11

 You who hover
 Around these palms
 In night and wind,
 You holy angels,
 Silence the treetops,
 My child is sleeping.

 You palms of Bethlehem
 In the roaring wind,
 How can you today 
 Bluster so angrily!
 O roar not so!
 Be still, bow
 Softly and gently;
 Silence the treetops!
 My child is sleeping.

 The child of heaven
 Endures the discomfort,
 Oh, how tired he has become
 Of earthly sorrow.
 Oh, now in sleep,
 Gently softened,
 His pain fades,
 Silence the treetops!
 My child is sleeping.

 Fierce cold
 Comes rushing,
 How shall I cover
 The little child's limbs?
 O all you angels,
 You winged ones
 Wandering in the wind.
 Silence the treetops!
 My child is sleeping.

Oh, how I roused myself in the night, in the night,
And felt myself drawn farther;
I left the alleys, guarded by the watchmen,
And wandered through quietly,
In the night, in the night,
The gate with the gothic arch.

The millbrook rushed through the rocky gorge,
I leaned over the bridge,
Observing far below me the waves,
Which rolled so quietly,
In the night, in the night,
Yet never did one roll back.

Overhead wanders the infinite, flickering,
melodic traffic of the stars,
With them, the moon in calm splendor;
They gleam quietly
In the night, in the night,
At a deceptively remote distance.

I gaze up into the night, in the night,
And gaze down again anew:
Alas, how have you spent the day!
Now, softly you try to still, 
In the night, in the night,
the remorse of your pounding heart!