My Little Song (II) For the country dear where but a crumb of bread  Up from the ground with reverence we heave,  Adoring thus the Boon by Heaven spread...  O Lord I grieve...    And for the land where storks nests to destroy  As a serious misdeed we do perceive,  For they provide us all with mirth and joy...  O Lord I grieve...    And for the country where each greeting nod  Is dear to Him in whom we do believe,  For meeting friends we say: «Praise be to God». [...]

Ur. 24 wrze