When little boys with merry noise

In the meadows shout and run;

And little girls, sweet woman buds,

Brightly open in the sun;

I may not of the world despair,

Our God despaireth not, I see;

For blithesomer in Eden's air

These lad and maidens could not be.

Why were they born, if Hope must die?

Whereforth this health, if Truth should fail?

And why such Joy, if Misery

Be conquering us and must prevail?

Arouse! Our spirit may not drop!

These young ones fresh from Heaven are:

Our God hath sent another troop,

And means to carry on the war.