Faith, divine Providence, fate
If only I were rich; I often said in prayer When I was but a tiny lad without much care If only I were rich, a soldier I would be With uniform and sword, most handsomely; At last an officer I was, my wish I got But to be rich was not my lot; But You, oh Lord, would always help.
I sat one eve, so happy, young and proud; A darling child of seven kissed my mouth For I was rich with fairy tales, you see With money I was poor as poor can be, But she was fond of tales I told That made me rich, but - alas - not with gold; But You, oh Lord, You know!
If only I were rich, is still my heavenly prayer. My little girl of seven is now a lady fair; She is so sweet, so clever and so good; My heart's fair tale she never understood. If only, as of yore, she still for me would care, But I am poor and silent; I confess I do not dare. It is Your will, oh Lord!
If only I were rich, in peace and comfort rest, I would my sorrow to this paper never trust. You, whom I love, if still you understand then read this poem from my youth's far land, Though best it be you never know my pain. I am still poor, my future dark and vain, But may, O Lord, You bless her!