Upon the fresh, grassy seat
Here by the little waterfall,
I hear from the top of the tower,
Devout little bell, your ringing.
 
You ring out, little bell, [you] proclaim Him as pure,
Him, whom my heart greets with trembling,
He, who more amiably and more closely
Hovers around me here in the greenery.
 
The streams quietly murmur
That He loves the fields and meadows,
That the rose that I pick
Is given to me by a good father,
 
That He himself from the delicate casing
Beckons forth the golden fruits,
And that through Him each new blossom
Drinks the fullness of life.

Ring out, little bell; ah, what would remain
To that heaven, to this greenery[?]
Ah, there is no life, no love,
No happiness without Him.
 
In the morning when cool dew
Strews pearls upon bushes and plants,
In the sunshine, little birds
Join happily into my prayer.
 
And in the evening, when it grows dark,
I see His gentle light:
Where the legion of stars sparkles,
He watches over valley and forest;
 
He shines upon my pathways,
Refreshes the meadow, nourishes the field,
Speaks the fatherly blessing
Over the sleeping world.
 
I rejoice in Him in springtime,
When one weaves wreaths of violets;
[I rejoice in] Him when the dances of the reapers
Are interrupted by storm and hail.
 
Should I not rejoice in Him?
Should I not sing that cloud, wind,
Also lightening, when it threatens,
Are in the Father's hands?
 
That He lovingly passes
By desolate rocky cliffs,
And in sombre sepulchres
Wafts the breath of Him who sustains us?