There is a reaper they call Death
Has power from our great God
He's whetting his blade now
It's sharper already
Soon he will gash through us
We will have to suffer it
Beware, sweet little flower
What still stands green and freshly yet
Tomorrow it's mowed away
The precious narcissus
The primrose of England
The proud hyacinth
The Turkish capped lily
Beware, sweet little flower
Many hundredthousand lots untold
Fall down under his hook
Red roses, white lilies
Both he will erase
You crowns imperial1
You will not be spared
Beware, sweet little flower
O Kaiser, King, o Prince and Lord
Fear ye the reaper well
This bringer of heartgloom
The longer, the fonder
Makes all to come down
Treats no one as special
Beware, sweet little flower
He makes no difference at all
Takes everything in one blow
Pope, King and Kaiser
Princes, palaces, mansions
Here they lie lumped together
With barely a name left
Beware, sweet little flower
[Stanza 1]
1. as in the flower