Through mountains, through valleys
A path stretched out.
Along that path walked the Mother of God
With the Child in her arms.
Oh, do not listen, my little Son,
To how the winds howl,
Look, on the little hill the windows are shining,
Maybe they will welcome us.
In our church above the nativity scene
A little star is burning,
The Mother of God places her Son
In the small crib.
Oh, let us go to God’s Church
All of us, at all times,
And let us bow to the Most Pure Virgin,
Who has come to us.