Creator of inspired notes!
Echo carrying reverberations of Olympus!
Beauteous, incorporeal beauty,
Gentle, spiritual power,
Moving the heart of the sons of earth,
Boldly lifting them up and gently swirling around them!
Who, as inner storms rage, 
Offers refreshment with calming magic,
Come with your song of atonement,
Heaven's daughter, harmony!

Sighs, which constricted the heart,
Which, misunderstood, finally closed - 
Tears, which smothered the eyes,
Many of which at one time were poured out in vain,
He who is enraptured now thanks you for them once more,
As your healing spring flows around him.
The tender flower of emotion,
Which is destroyed by many a frosty look,
Is blossoming, given life in the shrine
Of a breast which you nourished.

The dream images of the past,
Amor's morning fantasies,
You call them up, making them as quiet as gentle
Shadows in the moonlight when they surround us.
In the autumnal realm of life
Violets that withered long ago bloom again.
The magical blossoms of sweet disappointment,
Which experience has collected up and creased,
Are woken up, even in the most despondent of minds,
By the creative power of your attractive sound.

More beauteous, now as a sweet delusion
The image of time that has flown by comes back;
Love's longing strives more tenderly,
Inwardness glows more gently
When your chorus accompanies scenes of mourning,
Lending them a higher solace and grace;
Where words are powerless, you give
Refreshment to the ruined spirit;
You give the blessing of humility
Where tears cause exhaustion as they flow.

You fix onto the brighter places
Of our journey the melancholy gaze;
You carry the spirit on waves of concord
Back into a land of peace.
In order to brighten such a life
Delusion and music are needed!
Where the storm of time's passage
Tears up most of our best plans,
The balm of song drips
Hope into the noble spirit.

Come to beautify moments
For those who do not trust the future;
With your soporific notes close the eyes
Of those who stare too rigidly into the darkness;
Like an infant being weaned needs
The sound of a lullaby,
Lull us too into golden dreams
Of a better, inner world,
Until a more gentle light shines into the space
Of our dungeon, bringing a calm brightness.

Angel, you who help the one who is soul-sick
By bringing down gentle compassion,
Who brings refreshing thoughts
And lays them in the wrappings of notes,
Offering relief, instead of thorny branches
You wrap your wings around him;
To him for whom no earthly consolation remains,
And who is faithful to his silent melancholy . . .
Teach him to weep, teach him to love,
And may his life bloom anew for him.

Gift, conferred on mortals,
Tenderly felt, shyly concealed,
To trust in melodies . . .
Sweet power, which never fails,
To attract soul to soul;
What makes us blissful, what torments us,
What cannot be expressed with words
In any language . . .
Longing, horror and enchantment
You are poured out into song.

Voice from those brighter spheres,
Language from Psyche's fatherland,
With the sweet tears of a lost homeland
Known here in an alien valley . . .
Oh! your wishes are still granted,
Turned towards higher zones;
You know the language, more than the actual words,
And you can hear the soul's note;
At heaven's gate you imagine
That you have escaped from the abyss of banishment.

In gentle dying choruses sing out
To us through the night of death!
When external senses have been destroyed
Remain in the spirit's ear!
Those who do not belong to the Earth,
Lift them up with a swan-song!
Gently cut loose the ties of life,
Ease the battle and the agony,
And into the land of souls receive
Us, oh seraph, harmony!