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198
Songs of the Cross

XII.
The Courage of perfect Trust.

7,7,7,7,7,7

Warum sollt ich mich denn grämen.

Paul Gerhardt. 1653.

Wherefore should I grieve and pine?

Is not Christ the Lord still mine?

Who can sever me from Him?

Who can rob me of the heaven

Which the Son of God hath given

Unto faith though weak and dim?

Naked, helpless, was I born

When my earliest breath was drawn,

Naked must I wander forth,

As a shadow flits away

At the coming of the day,

Bearing nought with me from earth.

Soul and body, life and goods,

Are not mine, are only God's,

Given me by His loving will;

Would He take back aught of His,

Let Him take it, not for this

Shall my song of praise be still.

Sendeth He some cross to bear,

Cometh sorrow, need, or care,

Shall it all my peace destroy?

199

He who sends can end it too,

Well He knows in season due,

How to turn my griefs to joy.

Many a day of happiness

Hath He sent who loves to bless,

Shall I not bear aught for God?

He is kind, we know that He

Ne'er forsakes us utterly,

Love lies hidden in His rod.

What is there my foes can do,

Though they be nor weak nor few,

Save to scorn and mock my woe?

Let them laugh, and let them mock,

God my Saviour and my Rock

Soon shall all their schemes o'erthrow.

With a glad and fearless mien

Should a Christian man be seen,

Wheresoe'er be cast his lot;

Yea, though death seem close at hand,

Calm and quiet let him stand,

And his spirit tremble not.

Him no death has power to kill,

But from many a dreaded ill

Bears his spirit safe away:

Shuts the door of bitter woes,

Opens yon bright path that glows

With the light of perfect day.

200

There in deepest joy my heart

Shall be heal'd from all the smart

Of the wounds that pierced it here;

Here can no true good be found,

Seeming goods that here abound

In a moment disappear.

Wealth that this world can command,

Is it aught but barren sand,

Bringing cares and troubles sore?

There, there are the gifts unpriced

Where my Shepherd Jesus Christ

Shall refresh me evermore.

Fount of joy, my Lord Divine,

Thine I am, and Thou art mine,

Nought can part my soul from Thee;

I am Thine, for Thou didst give

Once Thy life that I might live,

Dearly didst Thou purchase me.

Thou art mine, because my heart

Ne'er will let Thee more depart,

Clings to Thee her joy, her light;

Bring me, bring me to that place

Where, enclasped in Thine embrace,

Love at last is blest with sight.

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