MIT HIERTE ALTID VANKER
Mit hierte altid vanker
I JEsu føde-rum,
Did samles mine tanker
I deres hoved-sum.
Der er min længsel hiemme,
Der har min troe sin skat,
Jeg kand dig aldrig glemme,
Du søde jule-nat.
Du mørke stald skal være
Mit hiertes fryde-slot,
Der kand jeg daglig lære,
At glemme verdens spot,
Der kand jeg best besinde,
Hvori min roes bestaaer,
Naar JEsu krybbes minde
Mig ret til hierte gaaer.
Men, ach! hvad skal jeg sige,
Naar jeg vil tænke paa,
At Gud af himmerige
I stalden ligge maa,
At himlens fryd og ære,
Guds væsentlige ord,
Skal saa foragtet være
Paa denne slemme jord.
En perle, der forgiettes,
Saa nøye ledes op,
Den blanke demant settes
I gylden krones top:
Man kaster ey en drue
Blant tørre grene ned:
Skal jeg min Gud da skue
I saadan uselhed?
Hvi skulde herre-sale
Ey for dig pyntet staae?
(Du havde at befale,
I hvor du pegte paa,)
Hvi lod du dig ey svøbe
I lyset som et baand,
Og jordens konger løbe,
At kysse paa din haand?
Hvi lod du ey udspende
En himmel til din telt,
Og stierne-fakler brænde?
O store himmel-helt!
Hvi lod sig ey til syne
En mægtig engle-vagt,
Som dig i silke-dyne
Saa prægtig burde lagt?
Ney! JEsus faaer sit leye
I denne gode juul,
Hvor betlere de pleye
At legge sig i skiul,
Det var og ey hans eget,
Det høe, hvori hand laae,
Hand havde ey saa meget,
Hand kunde ligge paa.
Den sag kand ey begribes,
At JEsus, Gud og mand,
Saa meget hart indknibes
I verdens jammer-stand,
Hand, som med Guddoms vælde
Al verden dømme vil,
Ey har det, hand kand helde
Sit arme hoved til.
En spurre har sin rede
Og sikre hvile-boe,
En svale ey tør lede
Om natte-lye og roe,
En løve veed sin hule,
Hvor hand sin roe kand faae;
Skal da min Gud sig skiule
I andres stald og straae?
Ach! kom! jeg vil oplukke
Mit hierte, siel og sind
Med tusind længsels-sukke,
Kom, JEsu, dog derind!
Det er ey fremmed bolig,
Du har det selv jo kiøbt,
Saa skal du blive trolig
Udi mit hierte svøbt.
Jeg vil med palme-grene
Dit hvile-sted bestrøe,
Min brudgom, dig allene
Jeg leve vil og døe.
Kom! lad min siel erlange
Sin rette qvæge-stund,
At kysse tusind’ gange
Din søde rosen-mund.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment