LITTLE son, the men-folk go
Forth in arms to meet the foe.
Fighting for the home-land holy,
Forth like men the men-folk go.
Little son, live thou to be
Brother, husband, friend to me.
Are they marching by the Rhine?
Have they crossed the border line?
Go they where the raging Cossacks
Drink the blood of men like wine?
Where they go, there fights till death
German honor, German faith.
Little son, if hopes are vain,
If the brave come not again,
If to save the home-land holy
God requires the final pain.
Little son, live thou to be
Brother, husband, friend to me.