Cantate, ye brethren, the day is ended,
Its labours and works achieved;
Now may a roaring song flow into the night,
May happiness be achieved with singing!
Though the groans of the day might have rent our ears,
May the nightly chorus surge harmoniously;
Therefore, brethren: Cantate! cantate! 
                     Choir.
    Cantamus! Cantamus! Cantamus!

Amate, ye brethren! for only love rewards
The labours and anxieties in life:
Thus the moon shines through threatening clouds,
Surrounded by peaceful stars.
Though a singer's cheek may have been heated at midday,
Love dries his sweat in the evening;
Therefore, brethren: Amate, amate!
                     Choir.
    Amamus! Amamus! Amamus!

Potate, ye brethern! a singer never stuck
Only to loving and singing;
He also gladly brandisches foaming tankards with a clang,
And drinks in order to love yet more fervently.
And though the day may wrinkle his brow,
The tankard at the evening banquet makes him merry;
Therefore, brethern: Potate! Potate!
                     Choir.
    Potamus! Potamus! Potamus!

Briskly then, ye brethren! The dawn breaks!
Let us sing stormily once more!
If your darling is in your arms, the tankard before you, --
Then you have achieved the highest goal.
Whatever dreariness fate may have brought the singer,
He sings and loves and drinks and laughs.
Cantate! amate! potate!
                     Choir.
    Cantamus! Amamus! Potamus!