Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916.
By Harvest SongCatholic Church Song (1638)
T
His might from God the highest came.
To-day his knife he’ll whet,
’Twill cut far better yet;
Soon he will come and mow,
And we must bear the woe—
Beware, fair flower!
To-morrow will be mowed away:
Narcissus so white,
The meadows’ delight,
The hyacinthias pale
And morning-glories frail.
Beware, fair flower!
Must fall beneath his deadly scythe:
Roses and lilies pure,
Your end is all too sure!
Imperial lilies rare
He will not spare.
Beware, fair flower!
The tulips white and yellow too,
The dainty silver bell,
The golden phlox as well—
All sink upon the earth.
Oh, what a sorry dearth!
Beware, fair flower!
And rosemary, dear ornament,
Sword-lilies proud, unfurled,
And basil, quaintly curled,
And fragile violet blue,
He soon will seize you too!
Beware, fair flower!
With one great sweep—I have no fear!
Though hurt, I’ll stay undaunted,
For I shall be transplanted
Into the garden by heaven’s gate,
The heavenly garden we all await.
Rejoice, fair flower!