English Rendering
I do not hope to earn good wages;
To do farm work is all my due.
My folks have tilled the field for ages;
Hunger and cold are nothing new.
I never ask more than enough,
Satisfied with chaff and plain food,
Clad in winter clothes of poor stuff
And in summer garment not so good.
I cannot meet my humble need.
How sad to say with broken heart!
Others may thrive in word or deed,
I can't earn a living apart.
What can I do and how can I
Drown my grief but drink my cup dry!