by Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856)
Translation Singable translation by Anonymous / Unidentified Author

Der kranke Sohn und die Mutter
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): ENG FRE
Der kranke Sohn und die Mutter,
Die schliefen im Kämmerlein;
Da kam die Muttergottes
Ganz leise geschritten herein.

Sie beugte sich über den Kranken,
Und legte ihre Hand
Ganz leise auf sein Herze,
Und lächelte mild und schwand.

Die Mutter schaut alles im Traume,
Und hat noch mehr geschaut;
Sie erwachte aus dem Schlummer,
Die Hunde bellten so laut.

Da lag dahingestrecket
Ihr Sohn, und der war tot;
Es spielt auf den bleichen Wangen
Das lichte Morgenrot.

Die Mutter faltet die Hände,
Ihr war, sie wußte nicht wie;
Andächtig sang sie leise:
"Gelobt seist du, Marie!"

About the headline (FAQ)

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


This text (or a part of it) is used in a work

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Leon Malinofsky) , "A Pilgrimage to Kevlaar", copyright © 2007, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English [singable] (Anonymous/Unidentified Artist)
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2007-10-14
Line count: 20
Word count: 96

The ailing son and the mother
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
The ailing son and the mother,
In their tiny chamber slept,
There came the Virgin-Mother,
Full lightly toward them she stept.

She bow’d herself o’er the sick man,
And straight her hand did lay
Quite gently on his heart-strings,
And smiling she past away.

The mother saw all in her dreaming, 
Saw this and greater still;
But she started from her slumber,
The dogs were barking so shrill.

There lay all still and silent 
Her son, and he was dead:
The glory of rosy morning 
Was laying upon his head.

Her wrinkled hands she folded,
She felt she knew not how;
And sang in lonely devotion:
“O Mary, Blest be thou!”

About the headline (FAQ)

From the Stanford score.


Authorship

  • Singable translation by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]


Researcher for this text: Christopher Howell

This text was added to the website: 2020-10-11
Line count: 20
Word count: 111