Therefore, this message of the Gods to thee ! 
What banner floats above thy bastions ? 
The oriflamme, the golden fleur-de-lys ? 
The eagle, or the tricolour ?  Thy sons 
Choose their own flag, contented to be free, 
With freemen’s orisons. 
 
The mist is gathering on the seer’s sight— 
I cannot see the future of thy state. 
Or, am I dazzled by resounding light ? 
I know this thing—thy future shall be great ! 
Come war, come revolution !  In their spite 
Thou mayst compel thy Fate. 
 
O German Empire !  Let thy sons beware, 
Not crowding sordid towns for lust of gold, 
Not all forgetful of the herdsman’s care, 
Not arming all men in an iron mould. 
Peaceful be thou :  with watching and with prayer. 
But be not overbold. 
 
Fall, Austria !  In the very day and hour 
That reverend head that holds thee in its awe 
Shall sink in peace, I see thy rotten power 
Break as the crumbling ice-floe in the thaw. 
Destruction shatters thy blood-builded tower. 
Death has thee in his maw. 
 
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