The Minstrel's Motherland

WHERE lies the minstrel's Motherland?
Where Love is faith and Friendship duty,
Where Valour wins its meed from Beauty,
Where Man makes Truth, not Gold, his booty,

And Freedom bids the soul expand —
There lay my Motherland!
Where Man makes Truth, not Gold, his booty,
There was my Motherland!

How fares the minstrel's Motherland?
The land of oaks and sunlit waters
Is dark with woe, is red with slaughters;
Her bravest sons, her fairest daughters,

Are dead — or live proscribed and banned —
So fares my Motherland!
The land of oaks and sunlit waters —
My cherished Motherland!

Why weeps the minstrel's Motherland?
To see her sons, while tyrants trample
Her yellow fields and vineyards ample,
So coldly view the bright example

Long shown them by a faithful band —
For this weeps Motherland!
Because they slight that high example
Weeps thus my Motherland!

What wants the minstrel's Motherland?
To fire the Cold and rouse the Dreaming,
And see their German broadswords gleaming,
And spy their German standard streaming,

Who spurn the Despot's haught command —
This wants my Motherland!
To fire the Cold and rouse the Dreaming,
This wants my Motherland!

Whom calls the minstrel's Motherland?
Her saints and gods of ancient ages,
Her Great and Bold, her bards and sages,
To bless the war fair Freedom wages,

And speed her torch from hand to hand —
These calls my Motherland!
Her Great and Bold, her bards and sages,
These calls my Motherland!

And hopes then still the minstrel's Land?
Yes! Prostrate in her deep dejection,
She still dares hope swift resurrection!

She hopes in Heaven and His protection
Who can redeem from Slavery's brand —
This hopes my Motherland!
She hopes in GOD and GOD'S protection,
My suffering Motherland!