I yearn for home; I am drawn to my Father's house,
My Father's heart;
Away from this world's confusing roar,
To quiet, deep peace;
I went out [into the world] with a thousand desires,
[But] I return home with a modest longing,
My heart still cherishes one seed of hope:
      I yearn for home.

I yearn for home; I am tired of your pain,
You arrant, false world;
I yearn for home! I am sick of your joy,
Good fortune to him who is pleased by it!
Since God wills it, I shall still bear my cross,
I shall battle my way valiantly through this world,
But deep in my bosom I sigh secretly:
      I yearn for home.

I yearn for home; I saw in blissful dreams
A better homeland;
There is my portion in eternally light spaces,
Here I have no dwelling-place:
Spring is past, the swallows spread their wings
For home, far over valley and hill;
They are held by no snares, by no birdlime, --
      I yearn for home.

I yearn for home; when, as a small child, I once was carried
To where there were games and good eating,
I was happy for an airy, short hour.
Then the rejoicing was over;
When my brothers' eyes were still sparkling like stars,
Their hearts only just ignited by play and joy,
Despite dark apples, golden honeycombs:
      I yearned for home.

I yearn for home; the ship is searching for its harbour,
The little stream runs into the sea,
The child goes to sleep in his mother's arms,
And I, too, no longer wish to carry on;
I sang many a song in joy and sorrow,
Like idle talk, joy and sorrow have faded away;
In my heart yet remained the [last]1 rhyme:
      I yearn for home.