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46

Sixth Sunday after Epiphany.

Every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself even as he is pure.

From the Epistle. [1 Jn. 3:3]

8,8,8,8

O reines Wesen, lautre Quelle

Freylinghausen. 1713.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

Pure essence! Spotless Fount of Light,

That fadeth never into dark!

O Thou, whose eyes more clear and bright

Than noonday sun are quick to mark

Our sins; lo, bare before Thy face

Lies all the desert of my heart,

My once fair soul in every part

Now stained with evil foul and base.

Since but the pure in heart are blest

With promised vision of their God,

Sore fear and anguish fill my breast,

Rememb'ring all the ways I trod;

Mourning I see my lost estate,

And yet in faith I dare to cry,

Oh let my evil nature die,

Another heart in me create!

Enough, Lord, that my foe too well

Hath lured me once away from Thee;

Henceforth I know his craft how fell,

And all his deep-laid snares I flee.

Lord, through the Spirit whom Thy Son

Hath bidden us in prayer to ask,

Arm us with might that every task,

Whate'er we do, in Thee be done.

47

Unworthy am I of Thy grace,

So deep are my transgressions, Lord,

And yet once more I seek Thy face;

My God, have mercy, nor reward

My sins and follies, dark and vain;

Reject, reject me not in wrath,

But let Thy sunshine now beam forth,

And quicken me with hope again.

48

The Holy Spirit Thou hast given,

The wondrous pledge of love divine,

Who fills our hearts with joys of heaven,

And bids us earthly joys resign;

Oh let His seal be on my heart,

Oh take Him nevermore away,

Until this fleshly house decay,

And Thou shlt bid me hence depart.

But ah! my coward spirit droops,

Sick with the fear that enters in

Whene'er a soul to bondage stoops,

And wears the shameful yoke of sin;

Oh quicken with the strength that flows

From out the Eternal Fount of Life,

My soul half-fainting in the strife,

And make an end of all my woes.

I cling unto Thy grace alone,

Thy steadfast oath my only rest;

To Thee, Heart-searcher, all is known

That lieth hidden in my breast;

Thy joy, O Spirit, on me pour,

Thy fervent will my sloth inspire,

So shall I have my heart's desire,

And serve and praise Thee evermore.

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