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To Thee we may

Behrisch, let spring's sweet smileNever gladden thy brow!Then winter's gloomy tempestsNever will shadow it o'er.

IF Venus in the evening skyIs seen in radiant majesty,If rod-like comets, red as blood,Are 'mongst the constellations view'd,Out springs the Ignoramus, yelling:"The star's exactly o'er my dwelling!What woeful prospect, ah, for me!Then calls his neighbour mournfully:"Behold that awful sign of evil,Portending woe to me, poor devil!My mother's asthma ne'er will leave her,My child is sick with wind and fever;I dread the illness of my wife,A week has pass'd, devoid of strife,--And other things have reach'd my ear;The Judgment Day has come, I fear!"