Oh! my brother, my brother dear

Your face before me cannot clear;

Though not even an image of you I have

Yet my mind is always on you,

For you left me with your favourite hymn:

Dzidz? wònye nam esi wodzim.

Your years were just eight, little brother,

Just beginning to know of life

For your boyish brain was just starting

To read your first tongue, and the A B C,

With the songs of praise I'll sing till I die:

Dzidz? hawo madzi vasede esi maku.

Brother, dear brother, my brother dear

A mother's love we did not know,

For she left when you were just young.

Had we had our mother even today I say

My ears would have a delight to hear you sing

Avi s? agb? le afisia kple fukpekpe füu

Hundreds of miles between us lay

And my letter to Pa … How's my brother?

Was written on the day you were gone.

Oh! death! why deprive me of my brother

Arid his most loved song of praise:

Ŋ?dzi ge?e le agbeme vase?e esi miaku

Natural did all seem after those six months

When I turned my face home bound,

But Oh! brother, my eyes were in tears

For I reached the station where we last met

And found you not, but somebody

Who could not give me your songs of praise.

Then at home—where is brother Kwashie?

Nobody talked but I heard an answer,

Which sent me nothing but heart-break,

And to your home was I directed—

Your father's home no more your own—

But your songs of praise I heard you sing:

Avidzi ko mian? ne X?la meli o.

Where is my brother? for his place is so quiet.

Oh brother! brother! are you alone there?

Oh no, with grand-ma and mother.

But grand-ma and mother are dead.

Ah! I remember, I remember, brother too is dead.

Only his songs of praise can't die with him:

Mloeake la ava dzaa ale wofe asi.

My last gift to you, a forget-me-not tree

Which at your head did stand

And your remains in its shade do rest

And away again, away from you.

Good-bye, good-bye, dear brother, good-bye.

But with your priceless gift with me I go:

Dzi la dz?m tegbee ‘lab? nye nutila fa.