Far and wide as the eye can wander,
Heath and bog are everywhere.
Not a bird sings out to cheer us.
Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.

We are the peat bog soldiers,
We’re marching with our spades to the bog.

Up and down the guards are pacing,
No one, no one can go through.
Flight would mean a sure death facing,
Guns and barbed wire grid our view.

We are the peat bog soldiers,
We’re marching with our spades to the bog.

But for us there is no complaining,
Winter will in time be past.
One day we shall cry rejoicing:
Homeland, dear, you're mine at last!

Then will the peat bog soldiers
March no more with the spades to the bog.

Doch für uns gibt es kein Klagen,
Ewig kann nicht Winter sein,
Einmal werden froh wir sagen:
Heimat du bist wieder mein.

Dann zieh´n die Moorsoldaten
Nicht mehr mit dem Spaten ins Moor.
Dann zieh´n die Moorsoldaten
Nicht mehr mit dem Spaten ins Moor.