Paul Gerhardt's Spiritual Songs Part 15

My G.o.d, how precious, sweet, and fair, I see array'd before me there The thoughts of wisdom of Thy heart, In all Thy bounty doth impart.

The sum of these so high doth mount, That when their number I would count, I find them infinitely more Than dust or sand, on field or sh.o.r.e.

How doth the bold blaspheming band Thee vilify on every hand, O G.o.d of wonders! and Thy name Despise and treat with open shame.

Their scornful mouths, Lord, close and seal, Against them speedily reveal Thy wrath! against Thy foes arise, Thy foes are hateful in mine eyes.

Though in return, their hatred sore Against Thee burn, I do no more Amid the rage of angry foes, Than 'neath Thy shelt'ring wings repose.

Lord, search and know my heart and mood, See if my way be right and good, The everlasting joyful road Lead me that brings me home to G.o.d.

Songs of the Cross and Consolation.

UNDER THE TRIALS OF THIS LIFE.

Full often as I meditate Upon the world's disorder'd state, I ask myself if earthly life Be good, and worthy of the strife, Has he not acted for the best Who laid himself betimes to rest?

Reflect, my friend, say, if you know What station is there here below Without its fall and daily share Of sorrow, pain, and anxious care?

And tell me if a place there be From sorrow, tears, vexation free.

And doth not every pa.s.sing day, From youth to manhood, bear away Its own peculiar load of grief Upon its back, and such relief As transient joy may seem to bring, Is it not full of suffering?

If times be good, and fortune smile, My G.o.d! how envy storms the while; If dignity and honours great Attend thy steps, alas! their weight.

If others thou'rt preferr'd before, Than others too thou'rt burden'd more.

Art thou to-day in joyous mood, Rejoicing in thy share of good?

Lo! ere thou think'st, thy gains are gone, Thy joyous mood with them is flown, The hurricane so suddenly Doth sweep away thy property.

Dost from the world withdraw thyself, And lov'st G.o.d more than gold or pelf?

Thy crown, thy jewel, thy good name Is cover'd by the world with shame.

For he who can't dissembler play, The world as fool will spurn away.

'Tis true, alas! that trouble waits In daily watch before our gates; On earth the cross is borne by all, All feel its weight, and taste its gall; But shall we therefore cast away The Christian's light? I tell thee--nay.

The saints, who to their Saviour cleave, In faith and in the Spirit live, Unhurt by any ill or woe Pa.s.s through their pilgrimage below; Though things may sometimes fall out ill Yet with them it is ever well.

Though they no gold have stor'd away, They've G.o.d, and care not what men say, Reject with joy, and aye despise The world's vain pomp and vanities; Their honour is to hope and wait, From G.o.d alone comes all their state.

The Christian, G.o.d as Father knows, Can in His faithfulness repose; Whatever trial G.o.d may send, Can't separate him from his friend; The more He smites, he loves the more, Remaineth true, though chasten'd sore.

He only plays a hero's part Who cherishes within his heart The Saviour's love; whate'er betide, Firm as a rock shall he abide When heav'n and earth shall pa.s.s away; Though men forsake, G.o.d's word's his stay.

The word of G.o.d beguiles our fears, And turns to smiles our bitter tears; It robs misfortune of the pow'r Of hurting in the evil hour; It brings the sadden'd heart relief, When bow'd beneath the load of grief.

Now cease, I pray, your tale of woe: Though full of grief this life below, Still falleth to the Christian's share Salvation and G.o.d's guardian care; Who loves the Saviour, trusts in G.o.d, Remains unmov'd beneath the rod.

As gold into the fire is cast, And comes forth purified at last, So saints supported by G.o.d's grace Uninjur'd through affliction pa.s.s; A child his father's child is still, Although his father's rod he feel.

Dear heart, chase all thy fears away, On thy G.o.d's faithfulness now stay, Though smiting with His chast'ning rod, He means it well, 'tis for thy good; Confide in Him, His guiding hand Will bring thee to the better land.

Live on according to His will, Although the way be rough, be still!

In heav'n Thou hast a mansion fair, Where joy will banish every care; If here we to the Saviour cleave, With Jesu's angels shall we live.

THOU ART BUT MAN!

Thou art but man, to thee 'tis known, Why dost thou then endeavour To do what G.o.d should do alone, Or can accomplish ever?

A thousand griefs thou goest through, In spite of all thy wit can do; Upon thine end thou pond'rest, What it will be thou wond'rest.

'Tis all in vain, in vain thy care, With all thy musings earnest, In all thy life a single hair Thou white or black ne'er turnest.

The griefs by which thou'rt sore distress'd Can only serve to mar thy rest, Cause anguish unavailing, Thy life itself curtailing.

Wilt thou do what is for thy good, And what thy G.o.d good seeth?

Then cast on Him each heavy load, 'Fore whom earth and heav'n fleeth.

Thy life and labour, all that's thine, With joy into G.o.d's hand resign; A happy end He'll ever Give thee, and thee deliver.

Who car'd for thee ere light of day Had dawn'd upon thy vision, While in the womb thy soul still lay As in a gloomy prison?

Who thought upon thy welfare then?

What good did all the might of men Do, when to thee were given Life, mind, and pow'r from heaven?

Whose skill was it that fas.h.i.+on'd thee?

And who thy frame upreared?

To glad our eyes, by whose decree, Say, hath the light appeared?

Who hath thy veins in order laid, For each a course convenient made?

Who hath thy frame replenish'd With members fair and finish'd?

Where were thy mind and will and heart When land and ocean over, Yea, even earth's remotest part, The sky was spread to cover?

Who made the sun and moon to s.h.i.+ne, Who gave herbs, trees, and beasts as thine, Who bid them satisfy thee, And no desire deny thee?

Lift up thy head, see everywhere, Above, around, below thee, How G.o.d in all for thee His care, And at all times, doth show thee!

Thy meat and drink, the clothes dost wear, Did G.o.d, ere need thou felt'st, prepare.

G.o.d, ere thou wast, prepar'd thee Thy mother's milk, that rear'd thee.

The raiment that in infancy Thy nakedness did cover, The cradle that received thee, The roof thy young head over, Were all in love prepar'd for thee, Ere yet thine eye was op'd to see The wonders that abounded, The world that thee surrounded.

Yet wilt thou walk by thine own light Thy life long, only heeding, Believing nothing but thy sight, Go whither it is leading.

In all that thou dost undertake, Thy heart thy counsellor dost make, Unless by it selected, Is ev'ry plan rejected.

Behold! how oft and openly G.o.d's providence undoeth The plans thy hand so ardently And hopefully pursueth.

But it doth happen frequently, That e'en the very things we see The wisest men could never Predict, or think of ever.

How oft thy stiff-neck'd self-will hath To bitter need reduc'd thee!