Paul Gerhardt's Spiritual Songs: Translated by John KellyGerhardt, Paul
Religion
Paul Gerhardt's Spiritual Songs: Translated by John Kelly
Gerhardt, Paul
Hymns, English; Hymns, German -- Translations into English
Creator, Father, Prince of might!
Who life to me art giving,
Unless Thou guid'st my life aright
In vain here am I living.
For while I'm living, I am dead,
To sin devoted ever;
Whose life in mire of sin is led,
The true life he hath never
Beheld one moment even.
Then turn on Thy poor child Thy face,
In darkness do not leave me;
That I may shun sin and disgrace,
Good counsel ever give me!
To keep my lips a guard, Lord, send,
May no word ever leave them
That e'er Thy people could offend
Let nought I say e'er grieve them,
Nor ever Thee dishonour!
Forbid, Father! that mine ear
Upon this earth so evil,
Against Thy name and pow'r should hear
The wicked rage and cavil.
Let not the poison and the gall
Of slanderers defile me;
If I such filth should touch at all
It surely would beguile me,
Might e'en quite overthrow me.
Lord, keep mine eyes, control their glance,
May they work evil never;
A bold and shameless countenance
Keep Thou far from me ever!
What's honest, keeps due boundaries,
What angels seek in heaven,
What is well-pleasing in Thine eyes,
For it by me be striven,
All luxury disdaining.
Oh! may I ne'er delighted be
By revelling and eating;
Be what Thou lov'st belov'd by me,
Though others shun it, hating.
The lusts wherein the flesh doth roll,
To hell will draw us ever;
The joys the world doth love, the soul
And spirit will deliver
To torment everlasting.
Oh! happy he who eats heav'n's bread,
And heav'nly water drinketh,
Who tastes nought else, nought else doth heed,
Nought else desires, and thinketh
Of that alone which strength can bring,
The life we'll live for ever
With God, and with the hosts who sing
His praise, in joy that never
Shall know an interruption.
FOR CONSTANT CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP.
Jesus! Thou, my dearest Brother,
Who dost well to me intend,
Thou mine Anchor, Mast, and Rudder,
And my truest Bosom-Friend.
To Thee, ere was earth or heaven,
Had the race of man been given;
Thou, e'en me, poor guest of earth,
Chosen hadst before my birth.
Thou art free from guile, Lord! ever
Innocent of all that's base;
But on this sad earth whenever
I in meditation gaze,
There I find deception living;
Who excelleth in deceiving,
Who the best dissemble can,
He's the best and wisest man.
Hollow and unfaithful ever
Is the friendship of the earth;
Seemeth she a man to favour?
'Tis but for the gold he's worth;
Are we prosp'rous, do we flourish?
She will smile on us, and nourish;
Doth misfortune o'er us low'r?
She forsakes us in that hour.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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