That is the custom of a mother's eye,
To smile happily even while weeping;
For if it concerns her child's happiness and welfare,
All pain is quickly gotten over.

Yes, a mother's faithfulness is ever the same,
And a mother's love is wondrously bountiful;
And a mother's care never ends
Until body and soul are separated.

That is the custom of a mother's eye,
To smile happily even while weeping;
Only the benevolence and love of God
Can be deeper yet and greater.

  Golden cloudlets, tarry, oh tarry
Longer yet upon the seam of the sky!
Longer yet shower your blessings
Smilingly upon the land!
  The river runs hither shimmeringly,
Every wave returns your greeting;
And the most distant meadows revel
Gratefully in the sight of you.

  Tarry, oh tarry! Ah! the night air
Is already blowing hither through the bushes!
Before you depart, sink into my heart
With a last smile!
  So that when mountain and valley
Have utterly forgotten you in the dark,
Your light may sparkle comfortingly 
On and on within me, bright and clear!

Upon the heavens
The sun is rising,
In the forest the choir
Of birdlets is singing. --
Now has ended
The raven-black night --
The morning, yes the morning,
The morning has wakened!

And the sun climbs
Ever higher,
In field and woods
The mists are receding.
Now it grows ever brighter,
Yes, powerfully brighter and brighter --
The morning, yes the morning,
The morning has wakened!

  The mists recede! The mountains gaze
Upon the land so clearly, so clearly!
The sun laughs! The airs become
Transparently blue, wondrously!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!

  And though the trees no longer blossom,
Ah! they stand glowingly red.
And though the host of birds has long departed,
All singing is not dead!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!

Make haste! before the storm roars through the land,
The last greeting shall die away!
And soon, ah! under a snowy garment
The meadow must now sleep!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!

   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!
You are robbing me of all the blossoms,
So that it snows upon walk and path,
You are even flinging the snow into my face
In heaps, you naughty scoundrel!
   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!

   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!
All the birds are fleeing in startlement
Deep into the woods, into the sure hiding place,
And the delicate flowers of the meadow,
Ah, look how they are trembling, oh look!
   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!

   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!
From the mountains you only chase down 
Stormclouds upon me, black and heavy;
Woe, not a single sunbeam gazes down
Any longer upon the blossoming valley!
   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!

   May wind!
   Halt, halt! not so rapidly!
If you wish to rage, well then I beg you
Take rather my worries away,
For all I care, across the sea with them,
The whole swarm of them, today yet!
   May wind!
   Away, away! quickly, quickly!