The snow is deep along the pass,
The Josef ice is blue,
No bird could bear the bitter cold,
Save you, save only you.

Save you, oh friendly, wayward thing,
So shy, and yet so bold,
Are not the little ice-flints sharp?
Are not the ridges cold?

But you who are so fair to man,
Why do you swoop and leap?
Why do you tear the little lambs,
And score the trembling sheep?

Ah, call your flocks and keep the ice
For there you do not sin.
Forget the farmyard and the fleece,
Go not the field within.

There is no lark upon the snow,
There is no thrush above.
It is your kingdom; tarry there,
If you would have our love.