MY FATHER-LAND

Where is the minstrel's Father-land?

Where the sparks of noble spirits flew,

Where flowery wreaths for beauty grew,

Where strong hearts glowed so glad and true

For all things sacred, good and grand:

There was my Father-land.

How named the minstrel's Father-land?

O'er slaughtered son —‘ neath tyrants’ yokes,

She weepeth now — and foreign strokes;

They called her once the Land of Oaks —

Land of the Free — the German Land:

Thus was called my Father-land.

Why weeps the minstrel's Father-land?

Because while tyrant's tempest hailed

The people's chosen princes quailed,

And all their sacred pledges failed;

Because she could no ear command,

Alas must weep my Father-land.

Whom calls the minstrel's Father-land?

She calls on heaven with wild alarm —

With desperation's thunder-storm —

On Liberty to bare her arm,

On Retribution's vengeful hand:

On these she calls — my Father-land.

What would the minstrel's Father-land?

She would strike the base slaves to the ground

Chase from her soil the tyrant hound,

And free her sons in shackles bound,

Or lay them free beneath her sand:

That would my Father-land.

And hopes the minstrel's Father-land?

She hopes for holy Freedom's sake,

Hopes that her true sons will awake,

Hopes that just God will vengeance take,

And ne'er mistakes the Avenger's hand:

Thereon relies my Father-land.