Mit hierte altid vanker - Brorson's wonderful 'heart in the stable/stable in the heart' hymn - now in English

MY HEART IS ALWAYS ROAMING

My heart is always roaming

Where once the Christ child lay,

And on that stable homing

My thoughts collect each day.

A refuge for soul’s fretting,

My faith’s most treasured seat,

I’ve no way of forgetting

You Christmas night so sweet.

My heart’s delight and palace

Shall you, dark stable, be,

Where each day I gain solace

From earth’s cruel mockery,

Best weigh there free from danger

The nature of my praise

When thoughts of Jesu’s manger

So set my heart ablaze.

But, ah! What shall I utter

When thinking with a sigh

That heaven’s Lord in but a

Poor manger had to lie,

That heaven’s joy and splendour,

God’s word of precious worth,

Derision now engender

Upon this wretched earth!

A pearl that’s lost with zeal is

Sought out until it’s found,

The diamond’s bright appeal is

Best seen atop a crown,

No grape is thrown down surely

’Mongst branches that are dry:

Shall I see God then poorly

In some mean stable lie?

Why not in halls appointed

With all that’s fine and grand?

(They had, if you’d but pointed,

Been decked at your command)

Why would you not be swathed in

Bright light that formed a band,

And let earth’s kings come craving

To kiss you by the hand?

Why did you keep from raising

A welkin as your tent,

And have star-torches blazing,

Oh hero, heaven-sent?

Why was not on display too

A guardian angel host,

That in silk quilts would lay you,

As did befit you most?

No! Jesu’s bed’s a stable

At this good Christmastide,

Where beggars if they’re able

From winter’s cold will hide,

And all the hay he lay in

Was meant for beasts alone,

He did not have a say in

A thing to call his own.

It is beyond all reason

That Jesus, God and man

This vale of woe as prison

Must suffer for a span,

He, who will judge for ever

The living and the dead,

Has got no place whatever

Where he can lay his head.

A nest has e’en the sparrow,

A safe place to call home,

Nor needs the fleeting swallow

For night-time shelter roam.

Nor does a lion know anguish,

Its cave has rest in store;

Shall then my Saviour languish

On some strange stable’s straw?

Ah! Come! I will throw open

My heart, my soul and mind,

A thousand sighs have spoken,

Come, Jesus, come and find!

It is no unknown chamber,

You bought it with your blood!

Here will you sweetly slumber

In my heart swathed for good.

Your resting-place so holy

Shall strewn with palm-sprigs lie,

My bridegroom, for you solely

I will both live and die.

Come! let my soul find bliss in

The fount to which it’s wed,

A thousand times be kissing

Your sweet mouth rosy red.