Where can one still find hunting
But in the German land!
The French have cleared their land to excess;
Conserving nothing, they have destroyed the hunt,
They shoot songbirds, the braggarts.
 
In England, nothing but
A chicken feels at home;
Factories rattle and pound,
Machines hammer and steam.
No wild game can tolerate that.
 
They borrow from us the foxes
To chivvy them over hedges and fields:
That is nothing but an amusement for riders.
The hunt would be on its deathbed
If Germany did not preserve it.
 
The serious, demanding hunt,
We alone know it,
To live in the forest and field,
Immersed in the weavings of our origins,
Thus thrives the German hunt.
 
So drink a full glass to that;
Long live the German hunt!
That zest that spins dreams,
And that art that ponders deeds,
That we enjoy so well.
 
Hunting strengthens the soul, strengthens the hand,
It promotes freshness, strength and courage:
When it becomes necessary to protect the empire,
We have experience with weapons.
Long live the gallant huntsman stock!