What is the German’s fatherland? 
Now name for me that mighty land! 
Ah!  Austria surely it must be,
So rich in fame and victory. 
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German’s fatherland!

What is the German’s fatherland? 
Tell me the name of that great land! 
Is it the land which princely hate
Tore from the Emperor and the State? 
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German’s fatherland!

What is the German’s fatherland? 
Now name at last that mighty land! 
“Where’er resounds the German tongue,
Where’er its hymns to God are sung!”
That is the land,
Brave German, that thy fatherland!

That is the German’s fatherland! 
Where binds like oak the clasped hand,
Where truth shines clearly from the eyes,
And in the heart affection lies. 
Be this the land,
Brave German, this thy fatherland!

That is the German’s fatherland! 
Where scorn shall foreign triflers brand,
Where all are foes whose deeds offend,
Where every noble soul’s a friend: 
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!

All Germany that land shall be: 
Watch o’er it, God, and grant that we,
With German hearts, in deed and thought,
May love it truly as we ought. 
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!

THE SONG OF THE FIELD-MARSHAL

What’s the blast from the trumpets?  Hussars, to the fray! 
The field-marshal[2] rides in the rolling mellay: 
So gay on, his mettlesome war-horse he goes,
So fierce waves his glittering sword at his foes. 
And here are the Germans:  juchheirassassa! 
The Germans are joyful:  they’re shouting hurrah!

     [Footnote 2:  Bluecher]

     Oh, see as he comes how his piercing eyes gleam! 
     Oh, see how behind him his snowy locks stream! 
     So fresh blooms his age, like a well-ripened wine,
     He may well as the battle-field’s autocrat shine. 
     And here are the Germans:  juchheirassassa! 
     The Germans are joyful:  they’re shouting hurrah!

     It was he, when his country in ruin was laid,
     Who sternly to heaven uplifted his blade,
     And swore on the brand, with a heart burning high,
     To show Frenchmen the trade that the Prussians could ply. 
     And here are the Germans:  juchheirassassa! 
     The Germans are joyful:  they’re shouting hurrah!

     That oath he has kept.  When the battle-cry rang,
     Hey! how the gray youth to the saddle upsprang! 
     He made a sweep-dance for the French in the room,
     And swept the land clean with a steel-ended broom. 
     And here are the Germans:  juchheirassassa! 
     The Germans are joyful:  they’re shouting hurrah!

     At Luetzen, in the meadow, he kept up such a strife,
     That many thousand Frenchmen there yielded up their life;
     That thousands ran headlong for very life’s sake,
     And thousands are sleeping who never will wake. 
     And here are the Germans:  juchheirassassa! 
     The Germans are joyful:  they’re shouting hurrah!