My Father-Land
[From the German of Theodor Korner.]
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.