Oh, the sun, the beauteous sun
When o’er dusky shade hath won,
Colouring where the flowers run,
Ripening the berry.
There I ever long to be,
There my heart is ever free;
There I wish my love to see
At my own Steinnery.

There most golden is the corn,
There most radiant is the morn,
Happy is the infant born
In that upland airy;
Peace is there, no vulgar strife,
Easily flows the country life,
And I think I’ll choose my wife
From my loved Steinnery!
There the bees incessant drone,
There the breezes gently moan,
There is warmth in every stone,
Roofs glow like the cherry!
When at last I come to die,
When these limbs at rest will life,
Take me to be near the sky
In my blessed Steinnery!