English Rendering
Crack up primeval rock and soil,
There glistening black gold we find;
Preserved in such fine sunny warmth
In Nature's breast deep and kind.
A little fire oft makes one feel
What Spring's expansive breaths incite,
And a burning furnace could break up
The densest darkness of the night.
Bronze tripods and wine-vessels1 're shaped
By its vital power and energy,
And melt iron retains on it
Its posthumous felicity.
So long as all God's children be
Relieved from hunger, free from cold,
It cares not if, from wooded mountains
It comes to vast sufferings untold.
