Oh, happiness, your love is pure!
Thou makest the weary joyful again,
Your beauty is truth and truth is life
A sweet symphony of life's fair bliss,
Couching upon our numbered struggles,
Emitting hope of triumph in battles;
Where canst thou bridge and not be felt?
Of men and babies, who can resist you?
Desolation quivers, and swiftly fades,
As doth a man who runs from fire.
A priceless gift yet hard to come by,
Such as who find you, find relieve:
Of feeble men you restore their strength,
Of laden women you lighten their burden,
For a better morn, why not for good?
Thy song is sung in honour of life
A beautiful rhythm to suit all seasons,
For ever winning, for ever leading,
Like legends of old in unique array
Where with we're clothed in flawless beauty.
What a rare treasure, What a divine package?
We've heard melodies but yours is sweeter:
Sweeter than candies, sweeter than honey,
And all that you are, a fair virtue!
A standing citadel in our sorrowful land,
Where we bury our grief, and fetch joy
As a weapon of war against our troubles,
Singing along in a merrier tone
And finding meaning, in brewed passion;
The meaning you add to our brief lives.
Happiness is a virtue, a free gift.
Have some of it for yourself always.
