My native tongue, how sweet you sound!
I’m so at home with you!
And if my heart were steel and stone,
You’d purge it of its pride.

Your light touch bends my rigid neck
As Mother’s arm once did.
Your gentle breath about my face
Silences all noise.

I feel just like a tiny child;
The world around is gone.
Just like a spring breeze do you blow
Soundness into my breast.

As he did then, Gramps folds my hands
And says to me, “Now pray!”
And “Our Father ...” I begin
As I used to do then,

And deeply feel it will be heard;
Thus has the heart its say.
And Heaven’s peace envelops me,
And all is well again!

My native tongue, so plain and just,
You ancient, virtuous speech!
“My father” may one’s mouth just say;
It sounds like prayer to me.

No music sounds as sweet to me,
Nor does a nightingale.
At any moment sparkling tears
Might trickle down my cheeks.