Ein Leed för em mücht’ ick tau Nacht giern singen,
wenn Abendstiern un Maand an’n Häben stahn.
Mit weiken Wind treckt ’t Leed tau em sien Bahn.
Wat Mudding singt, ward doch an’n schönsten klingen.

De Jung is dor. Hei wasst nu rin in’t Läben,
un sien lütt Ögings jüst denn’ Dag all seihn.
Sien Lachen sall dat Glück noch schöner wäben,
un üm em rüm sall allens gaut gescheihn.

Hei suugt de Muddermelk mit gaude Pust.
Bostbengel kann de iersten Schräd’ bald wagen,
un wackelt leiw an Muddings Hand mit Lust.

So’n stukig Jung kriggt keinein an denn’ Kragen.
Hei is so’n dägten mäkelborger Knuust.
Büst mien säut Schietebücks, un dat’s nich lagen.

Tonight I’d love to sing a lullaby for this new boy
When evening star and moon show in the sky.
With gentle breeze it travels far, flies oh so high!
All songs that Mother sings his greatest joy.

The boy’s arrived, will now grow into living,
His little eyes observing just this day.
His laughter will delight, will be bliss-giving,
And all is well then, come what may.

He gobbles up her milk with sheer delight,
Will take his first steps soon, at least he’ll try,
Toddling along while her hand holds his tight.

No one will beat him down, this strapping guy,
This Mecklenburger youngster tough and bright.
You are my sweetie pie, and that’s no lie.