Whosoever would walk in joy,
Should go forth and meet the sunrise;
Where the forest is as quiet as a church,
No breezes astir. 
The larks not yet awake,
Only the stream, in the tall grass,
Quietly singing a morning blessing.

The entire world is like a book,
In which has been written
Many a saying, in colorful lines,
How God has remained faithful to us.
Forest and flowers, near and far,
And the bright morning star
Are signs of his love.

Devotion permeates, like a breath,
Quietly through all the senses;
Love also knocks upon the heart
In a quiet way.
Knocking and knocking, until it opens,
And overflows its brim
With loud, jubilant praise.

And, suddenly, the nightingale
Allows her song to ring in the underbrush,
On mountain and in valley the sound awakens
And lifting itself, strives upward,
And the rosy gleam of the dawn
Joins its bright glow with it:
Let us sing praise to the Lord.