Nothing on earth
can be compared
with a shepherd’s joy;
on the green heath,
the blossoming pastures,
there’s true joy,
I am aware.

By cool springs,
by warm suns
to be radiated,
without fear of weapons
in the green field to sleep
with my sheep
is a joy in itself.

Once I go out playing a hurdy-gurdy,
another time I’m celebrating
through the deep valley,
then I have to dance,
singing my heart out,
I make again ring
the echo’s sound.

In exchange for a shepherd’s life,
one might willing give –
I don’t know what.
I trade with no one,
and I sleep with my
heart’s dear sheep
in the soft grass.