On Jordan's green banks,
Dwelt Jacob's line,
The crowd celebrated
Those who came from Mizraim;
There the multitudes camped,
There the long train stopped
Which, for long, long years,
Was the sandy desert's guest.

Their shelters were made of linen,
And in the middle of the tents rose the founding tent.
Green bushes protected it
From the heat of the sun,
There they filled leather water bottles
At the cool water wells.

The weary rejoiced
And devoutly raised their hands
So that they would soon be granted
The end of their long pilgrimage;
Then they sharpened the edge
Of each sword with a practiced hand,
To fight for the green pastures
In their fathers' country.

The nomads rest in the valley
And cry: Canaan!
Moses, on the steep paths,
Climbs up into the mountains,
Flurries of snow
Settle on his shoulders;
Two golden rays of light
Stream from his head.

And as he is now at Nebo's summit,
The vantage point is reached,
And that he can see everything,
Leaning forward trembling,
The meadows shine for him
Full of a thousand joys,
That he can only look longingly upon
But may never enter,
The fields stretch before him,
Where wheat and grapes are growing,
There are foaming brooks
In stripes across the green land;
There bees swarm,
There the ploughman strides,
There Juda's legacy glitters
From Beer-Sheba unto Dan.

"I have seen you!
Now death is welcome to me!
On this platform with gentle breezes,
Lord! gather thy servant!
It must be exquisite
To die on this mountain,
Where the clouds change colour
In the morning sunshine."

There, approaching on a cloud of light,
The Lord of the mountain range,
Lifting the leader of the tired pilgrim people
To rapture.
Down below, in the world's bustle,
Streams course through the forest,
And the heavens above
Open their golden gates!