Wednesday, November 23, 2016

The Golden Morning [Sun]

(apropos for Thanksgiving, though originally German)

The golden morning,
Joy her adorning,
On us is gleaming,
Rays brightly beaming,
With her beloved heart-quickening light.
My head and members
Lay deep in their slumbers,
But now awaking,
All sleep from me shaking,
Gazing on heav’n, I rejoice at the sight.

Mine eye’s beholding
God’s work unfolding,
Made for His glory,
Telling the story
Of all His power so mighty and great

And where the Father
His faithful shall gather
In peace, whenever

Earth’s ties they shall sever,
Leaving this mortal and perishing state.

Come ye with singing,
Our Maker bringing
Each good and blessing
We are possessing:
All be to God as an offering brought,
The best oblation
Our heart’s adoration.
Songs meet and thankful
Are incense and cattle
With which His pleasure most fitly is sought.

Evening and morning,
Sunset and dawning,
Wealth, peace, and gladness,
Comfort in sadness:
These are Thy works; all the glory be Thine!
Times without number,
Awake or in slumber,
Thine eye observes us,
From danger preserves us,
Causing Thy mercy upon us to shine.

Though all decayeth,
God ever stayeth,
Nor doth He waver,
He changeth never,
His Word and will have unchangeable ground.
His grace and favor
Are steadfast forever,
In our hearts healing 

Death’s pangs that we’re feeling,
Keeping us now and eternally sound.

Father, O hear me,
Pardon and spare me;
Calm all my terrors,
Blot out mine errors
That by Thine eyes they may no more be scanned.

Order my goings,
Direct all my doings;
As it may please Thee,
Retain or release me;
All I commit to Thy fatherly hand.

The good and healthful,
The harmful, unhelpful,
Thou my Physician,
Who know’st my condition,

Hast ne’er more chastened than any should be.
Griefs, though heart-rending,
All have their ending;

Though seas be roaring
And winds outpouring,

Thereafter shines the dear sun’s bless├Ęd face.

Fullness of pleasure
And glorious leisure
Then will be given
To me there in heaven,
Where all my thoughts are directing their gaze.

--Paul Gerhardt, 1666.  Translation, composite.  (adapted)