Horst Wessel, you Sturmführer! You foresaw prophetically the victory of the Swastika.
You had to die to become a wake-up call for many lost and indifferent people; you had to die to show German youth the way, the way to the new Germany, which can only arise through blood and sacrifice, through discipline and loyalty.
You could not live to see the day of victory: January 30th, 1933, when your storm and tens of thousands of SA comrades marched past in your Berlin, marched under blazing torches past the grasping field marshal of the World War and your leader Adolf Hitler, the chancellor of the German Reich, no longer despised and persecuted, but as the victors and saviors of the new Germany.
You have passed away, you have become the Sturmführer of the brown storm of the dead up there, and yet you live among us as an immortal.
Your old storm, grown mightily, marches today behind the proud standard that bears the name “Horst Wessel” in silver letters: your immortal name.
As Sturmführer, you march in front of the young Fascists in our allied Italy, to whom their leader pinned your immortal name on their eagle shield.
Horst Wessel, you worker, you marched with us on that May 1st of 1933, on that day of German labor.
You marched with us in the endless procession among them, working with their heads and hands, who had come together through your example, who wanted to honor and love German labor again.
You will continue to walk ahead of them, to show them the national community, you worker Horst Wessel.
Horst Wessel, you student, you conquered the youth of the universities with the swastika. They stood up against everything alien and un-German. They handed over dirt and trash to the flames. You showed them how to defend themselves instead of blind knowledge from books, cheerfulness and hope instead of a bleak view of the future. You live among them as a German student.
Horst Wessel, you singer! Never in the Third Reich will your victorious song perish. It has become the consecration song of the whole nation. The brown and black and gray columns stand in solemn posture at the sound of it. Every act of consecration closes with your song as a vow. The flags are lowered at the open grave of those who have gathered for your storm of the dead, until your song calls out to them: “Raise the flag!” Immortal you are, like your shining image Theodor Körner, the student, singer, and freedom fighter!
Horst Wessel, you German! Your name rings immortal in German regions over which the sun symbol of the swastika now shines.
Everywhere in the German fatherland squares, streets, and buildings bear your name. You have regained the capital of Germany through your struggle and death, and in the middle of German Berlin, in the Nikolai cemetery, you rest, having passed through storm and struggle to immortality. Your grave has become a place of pilgrimage for young and old; the flowers on it never fade. You have reawakened in German youth the spirit of the German fighters of Langemark, the spirit of fortitude, devotion, and loyalty. Horst Wessel, you fulfilled the words of a German workers’ poet: “Germany must live, even if we must die!”
You had to die to become a wake-up call for many lost and indifferent people; you had to die to show German youth the way, the way to the new Germany, which can only arise through blood and sacrifice, through discipline and loyalty.
You could not live to see the day of victory: January 30th, 1933, when your storm and tens of thousands of SA comrades marched past in your Berlin, marched under blazing torches past the grasping field marshal of the World War and your leader Adolf Hitler, the chancellor of the German Reich, no longer despised and persecuted, but as the victors and saviors of the new Germany.
You have passed away, you have become the Sturmführer of the brown storm of the dead up there, and yet you live among us as an immortal.
Your old storm, grown mightily, marches today behind the proud standard that bears the name “Horst Wessel” in silver letters: your immortal name.
As Sturmführer, you march in front of the young Fascists in our allied Italy, to whom their leader pinned your immortal name on their eagle shield.
Horst Wessel, you worker, you marched with us on that May 1st of 1933, on that day of German labor.
You marched with us in the endless procession among them, working with their heads and hands, who had come together through your example, who wanted to honor and love German labor again.
You will continue to walk ahead of them, to show them the national community, you worker Horst Wessel.
Horst Wessel, you student, you conquered the youth of the universities with the swastika. They stood up against everything alien and un-German. They handed over dirt and trash to the flames. You showed them how to defend themselves instead of blind knowledge from books, cheerfulness and hope instead of a bleak view of the future. You live among them as a German student.
Horst Wessel, you singer! Never in the Third Reich will your victorious song perish. It has become the consecration song of the whole nation. The brown and black and gray columns stand in solemn posture at the sound of it. Every act of consecration closes with your song as a vow. The flags are lowered at the open grave of those who have gathered for your storm of the dead, until your song calls out to them: “Raise the flag!” Immortal you are, like your shining image Theodor Körner, the student, singer, and freedom fighter!
Horst Wessel, you German! Your name rings immortal in German regions over which the sun symbol of the swastika now shines.
Everywhere in the German fatherland squares, streets, and buildings bear your name. You have regained the capital of Germany through your struggle and death, and in the middle of German Berlin, in the Nikolai cemetery, you rest, having passed through storm and struggle to immortality. Your grave has become a place of pilgrimage for young and old; the flowers on it never fade. You have reawakened in German youth the spirit of the German fighters of Langemark, the spirit of fortitude, devotion, and loyalty. Horst Wessel, you fulfilled the words of a German workers’ poet: “Germany must live, even if we must die!”