Mien Moderspraak, wa’ klingst du schöön!
Wa’ büst du mi vertruut!
Weer ook mien Hart as Stahl un Steen,
du dreevst den Stolt herut.

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.

Du böögst mien stieve Nack so licht
as Moder mit ährn Arm,
du fichelst mi um’t Angesicht –
un still is alle Larm.

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

Ik föhl mi as en lüttjet Kind,
de ganze Welt is weg.
Du pust mi as en Vörjahrswind
de kranke Boss torecht.

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

Mien Obbe foldt mi noch de Hann’n
un seggt to mi: “Nu bä!”
Un “Vader unser” fang ik an,
as ik wull fröher dä.

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,

Un föhl so deep: dat ward verstahn,
so sprickt dat Hart sik ut.
Un Rauh vun’n Himmel weiht mi an,
un allns is wedder guud!

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

Min Modersprak, so slicht un recht,
du ole, frame Räd’!
Wenn bloot en Mund “mien Vader” seggt,
so klingt mi ’t as ’n Bäd’.

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.

So herrli’ klingt mi keen Musik
un singt keen Nachdigal;
mi loopt je gliek in’n Ogenblick
de hellen Tran’n hendaal.

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