Hymns From The German Part 21

The little brooks run babbling by, Their margin bordered beauteously With trees, in shade abounding: The sheep's low bleat, and shout of joy Sent forth by idle shepherd-boy, From meadows green come sounding.

Th' unwearied bees, on busy wing, From flower to flower flit murmuring, And seek their honied treasure; While on the vine, from day to day, New strength the tender shoots display, Each day increase in measure.

Green ears the wheat-blades now unfold, And all rejoice, both young and old, The G.o.d of harvest praising; From Whom this rich abundance flows, Who every precious gift bestows, Men's hearts with gladness raising.

I too my part will gladly take; G.o.d's glorious works my heart awake, And soul and spirit capture: Since all are singing, I will sing, Will bring my grateful offering, And join the hymn of rapture.

If in this earthly scene below Thyself so glorious Thou dost shew, To us poor sinful mortals, Then what, when earth is past and gone, Will be the joy before Thy Throne, Within the golden portals?

What matchless rays, what light divine In Christ's own Paradise will s.h.i.+ne, What sounds be ever ringing, Where thousand seraph hosts rejoice, With ceaseless and unwearied voice Their Alleluias singing!

Oh! that with G.o.d's exulting band I even now might take my stand, With them might now adore Him, And, bearing high victorious palms, Sing praise in thousand joyful psalms, As angels do, before Him!

Yet silence here I will not keep, The while on earth I still must creep, This body's burden bearing: My heart shall evermore be bent Its thankful homage to present, Jehovah's praise declaring.

Lord! let my spirit but be filled With softening dews from heaven distilled, That it through Thee may flourish: Grant that the summer of Thy Grace, Within my heart's unfertile place, The fruits of Faith may nourish.

For Thee within my soul make room, Let me a thriving tree become, Thy bounteous blessing sharing; Make me a goodly plant to grow, Within thy garden here below, Abundant blossoms bearing.

Let every branch and tender shoot Be laden here with precious fruit, That, when from earth transplanted, To Paradise my soul may soar, To praise Thee better, love Thee more: Oh! may this prayer be granted!

Gottes Vorsehung.

Der Herr ist allen gutig, und erbarmet sich aller seine Werke.

Ich singe Dir mit Herz und Mund, Herr, meines Herzens l.u.s.t; Ich sing und mach auf Erden kund Was mir von Dir bewusst.

Ich weiss, da.s.s Du, der Brunn der Gnad Und ewge Quelle seist, Daraus uns Allen fruh und spat Viel Heil und Gutes fleusst.

Was sind wir doch? was haben wir Auf dieser ganzen Erd, Das uns, o Vater, nicht von Dir Allein gegeben werd?

Wer hat das schone Himmelszelt Hoch uber uns gesetzt?

Wer ist es, der uns unser Feld Mit Thau und Regen netzt?

Wer warmet uns in Kalt und Frost?

Wer schutzt uns vor dem Wind?

Wer macht es, da.s.s man Oel und Most Zu seinen Zeiten findt?

Wer giebt uns Leben und Geblut?

Wer halt mit seiner Hand Den goldnen, werthen, edlen Fried In unserm Vaterland?

Ach, Herr mein Gott, das kommt von Dir, Du, Du musst Alles thun: Du haltst die Wach an unsrer Thur, Und la.s.st uns sicher ruhn.

Du nahrest uns von Jahr zu Jahr, Bleibst immer fromm und treu, Und stehst uns, wenn wir in Gefahr Gerathen, herzlich bei.

Du strafst uns Sunder mit Geduld, Und schlagst nicht allzusehr, Ja endlich nimmst du unsre Schuld, Und wirfst sie in das Meer.

Wenn unser Herze seufzt und schreit, Wirst du gar leicht erweicht, Und giebst uns, was uns hoch erfreut, Und Dir zur Ehr gereicht.

Du zahlst, wie oft ein Christe wein, Und was sein k.u.mmer sei; Kein stilles Thranlein ist so klein, Du hebst und legst es bei.

Du fullst des Lebens Mangel aus Mit dem was ewig steht, Und fuhrst uns in des Himmels Haus, Wenn uns die Erd entgeht.

Wohl auf, mein Herze, sing und spring, Und habe guten Muth; Dein Gott, der Ursprung aller Ding, Ist selbst und bleibt dein Gut.

Er ist dein Schatz, dein Erb und Theil, Dein Glanz und Freudenlicht, Dein Schirm und Schild, dein Hulf und Heil, Schafft Rath und la.s.st dich nicht.

Was krankst du dich in deinem Sinn Und gramst dich Tag und Nacht?

Nimm deine Sorg und wirf sie hin Auf Den, Der dich gemacht.

Hat Er dich nicht von Jugend auf Versorget und ernahrt?

Wie manchen schweren Ungluckslauf Hat Er zuruckgekehrt?

Er hat noch niemals was versehn In seinem Regiment: Nein, was Er thut und la.s.st geschehn, Das nimmt ein selig End.

Ei nun, so la.s.s Ihn ferner thun, Und red Ihm nicht darein; So wirst du hier in Frieden ruhn, Und ewig frohlich sein.

Paul Gerhard. 1606-1676.

G.o.d's Providence.

The Lord is loving unto every man, and His mercy is over all His works.

_Ps._ cxlv. 9.

I sing to Thee with mouth and heart, Of all my joys the Well; I sing, that what I know Thou art My songs to all may tell: That Thou a Fountain art of grace, With blessings richly stored For all, in every time and place, This, this I know, good Lord.

For what have all that live, and move Through this wide world below, That does not from Thy bounteous love, O Heavenly Father, flow?

Who o'er our heads the curtain drew Of heaven's ethereal tent?

By whom are precious rain and dew Upon our pastures sent?

In frost and cold, whose hand but Thine Protects from tempest drear?

Who gives in season oil and wine Men's hearts to brace and cheer?

Whose impulse sends the life-blood warm Swift circling through our veins?

Who guards our land from war's alarm, While peace around us reigns?

O Lord, of this and all our store Thou art the Author blest; Thou keepest watch before our door, While we securely rest: Thy truth and love from year to year For all our wants provide; With ready help, in times of fear, Thou standest at our side.

Thou with us sinners bearest long, With measured stripes dost prove, And drownest all our grievous wrong In ocean-depths of love.

When silent woe our bosom rends, Thy pity sees our grief, And gives what to Thy glory tends No less than our relief.

Thou knowest when each Christian weeps, And why the tear-drops fall; And in the Book Thy mercy keeps These things are noted all: Thy lasting joys will compensate For lack of worldly store, And heavenly homes the just await, When earth shall be no more.

Cheer up! my heart, rejoice and sing, All anxious care resign; For G.o.d, Creation's Lord and King, Is thy G.o.d, even thine: He is thy Portion, he thy Joy, Thy Life, and Light, and Lord, Thy Counsellor when doubts annoy, Thy s.h.i.+eld and great Reward.

In restless thought, or blank despair, Why spend each day and night?

On Him Who made thee cast thy care; He makes our burdens light: Did not His love, and truth, and power Watch o'er thy childhood's day?

Has he not oft, in threatening hour, Turned dreaded ills away?