Translated by C. T. Brooks

 

ON Alpine heights the love of God is shed;

    He paints the morning red,

    The flowerets white and blue,

    And feeds them with his dew.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.

 

On Alpine heights, o’er many a fragrant heath,

    The loveliest breezes breathe;

    So free and pure the air,

    His breath seems floating there.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.

 

On Alpine heights, beneath his mild blue eye,

    Still vales and meadows lie;

    The soaring glacier’s ice

    Gleams like a Paradise.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.

 

Down Alpine heights the silvery streamlets flow;

    There the bold chamois go;

    On giddy crags they stand,

    And drink from his own hand.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.

 

On Alpine heights, in troops all white as snow,

    The sheep and wild goats go;

    There, in the solitude,

    He fills their hearts with food.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.

 

On Alpine heights the herdsman tends his herd;

    His shepherd is the Lord;

    For he who feeds the sheep

    Will sure his offspring keep.

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.