So bitterly my heart ached,
so weary were my feet,
so sick and lonesome was my soul
although my goal complete.
The hungry crows all wildly screech
where black storms toss and fling.
Come spring!

Come Denmark's gentle summer.
Come meadow flowers in throng.
Come golden day and silver night.
Come bird song, sweet and long.

But trees with naked branches,
defiant in despair,
stretch up at dark's wild hordes that pass
above us in the air.
The sparrow falls to earth quite dead,
the ground no life can bring.
Come Spring!

Come Denmark's gentle summer.
Come meadow flowers in throng.
Come golden day and silver night.
Come bird song, sweet and long.

But chillest now the cross is,
like some frost-stiffened cry,
a hope that's crucified is all
that empty hands hold high.
The dead are restless in their sleep,
recalled are wounds that sting.
Come Spring!

Come Denmark's sweetest summer.
Come fully, rich and strong.
Come happy time! Come joy and peace.
Come heart's song, full and long.