My homeland, you beloved land,
How you lay in death throes,
As in the horrid burning of hate
Your old snows had to grow red all round!
  Torn to shreds to the deepest marrow!
  Ah woe! when I think of those days,
  As strong as thunder, my lyre still wishes
  To take up its lamenting!

But, magically quickly, a mighty structure
Arose from the smoking [waste]land;
The dome rose proudly up to the blue of the sky
In competition with the Alps!
  And there was peace, and rejoicing
  Resounded out of the depths of the valley;
  Upon the mountainsides the victory song broke in waves:
  Hail, hail to the new bond!

My homeland, you beloved land,
May God, may God protect you!
Like the alpine rose on the mountain wall
May the flower of concord break forth!
  You are once more healthful in your deepest marrow,
  In all the shimmering counties!
  How must I let my lyre, as strong as thunder,
  Ring out in bright joy!