html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }O MY country, let thy son
Mourn his mother’s breast upon!
Wrongful brethren cause my woe;
Crying, there’s no warmth to me
In the inmost heart for thee—
O my country, thou dost know!
If, when night is calm and still,
Secret tears mine eyes o’erfill,
If they on thy bosom flow;
If my lot I’d cast with thee,
Sharing joy and woe with thee,
O my country, thou dost know!
What the youth in fancy roving,
What the man in transport loving,
Swore and swears again to do,—
Mother, if to thee I’d bring
Life and all in offering—
O my country, thou dost know!
If I from my word depart,
If the gushings of my heart
For another ever flow;
If, when life is leaving me,
Thou my last last cry wilt be,
O my country, thou dost know.