Troubled, wildered and forlorn
dark benighted, travel-worn
and all heart-broke i heard her say:
„oh my children, does it cry?
does it hear its mother sigh?"
Pitying i dropped a tear
but i saw a starbeam near
who replied:
„i am set to light you the ground
while your mother strives around
follow now the mother's groans
little wanderer, hurry home,
hurry home!"
Little wanderer, hurry home!
Sweet sleep, angel mild,
hover over me!
truth, be a lantern to my past!
i prepare my soul for flight,
prepare my head for death's cold hand
to hurry home