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Konrad Krez was one of Greater Germany's historical precursors, who sacrificed his heart's blood, a martyr for Germany. Until his death, exiled and apart from the old Fatherland, he continued fighting upright overseas for Germany until his last breath. It was allowed to me, his memory to revive again and let him stand out and bring his lyrics to the German people. That to me is a great joy. On May 9, 1937, the 40th anniversary of his death, his home city, Landau, engraved, -- in a presentation before the state, the party and the country, -- at his place of birth beside the German Gate and the lion monument for those fallen in battle, a memorial with the words:

                   Birthplace of Konrad Krez
                The Poet and Soldier for German 
                      Freedom and Unity

His home mountain, the Trifel with the three mountains, the first medal the Reich has issued, was given by the Bavarian minister, President Ludwig Siebert, and to pay the last respects he receives the Seal of the Pfalz, for all of the Pfalzers who became emigrants, whose loyalty Germany salutes.

Konrad Krez has that new order not more loved. In death he harbors homesick love full of yearning and love for his Fatherland, in earlier times seen and spoken, that today found fulfillment on the point of the song of the true, the song of the emigrant Germans, 'An Mein Vaterland'.

Ludwig Finckh

Gaienhofen, Autumn, 1938

On My Fatherland

No tree from your forests belongs to me,\ Mine was no blade from your fields of rye;\ And defenseless you chased me away\ Because I in my youth did not understand\ Your less and more love for myself --\ And for all that, you have my love, my fatherland!

Where is a heart in whose not enduring stays\ The feet of the dream of first young love?\ And holy as love was that fire,\ That once for you burned in my breast;\ Never was bride so dear to the bridegroom,\ As you were to me, beloved fatherland!

Has it not also rained on your reservoir,\ Has indeed your heaven richly blessed you.\ I've seen the wonder of bountiful regions\ Since last I stood on your soil;\ Indeed more lovely than palms and citrons,\ The apple tree in my fatherland!

Land of my father -- that is no longer mine -- \ No ground is so holy as yours!\ Never will your image depart from my soul\ And to connect me with you, no living bond;\ The dead are become my binding to you,\ Those laid in your earth, my fatherland!

O become other, who at home remain,\ How well your traveled forth love you,\ Soon you'll be raised to the realm,\ And with your children go hand in hand\ And they will make you the greatest country on earth\ As you the best bit, O fatherland!

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