Theobald Hock (b. 23 August 1573): 'Von dem Müßseligen Leben der Menschen'

On the arduous life of humankind

 

The start, the middle and the close

Of human life so fleeting

Are all beset with fear and woes,

Regret, grief, cares unceasing.

Though each design at first seems fine,

’Tis but a vain illusion,

If viewed without confusion,

’Tis all misfortune’s shrine.

 

Our earthly life each single day

Is nought but dust and ashes.

Like sheep that in their fields do stray

We dart in frantic dashes

On savage wave – in peril grave

Both sail and anchor lacking

Around the cauldron tacking

Though Fortune would us save.

 

Our every action is forlorn

In futile toil we languish,

’Twixt hope and doubt we here are torn,

But live in constant anguish.

All woes that rend death first can end

Whereas all joy that cheers

Within this vale of tears

The will of God contends.

 

Should we decide to set things straight,

Our former life to chasten

It in some measure expiate

Then we must start to hasten.

A fruit so great, that grown by Fate,

Is what the Sister shows us:

That death its due won’t owe us

No flight can obviate.

 

Fame, profit, gain are nothing worth,

All is from nothing coming;

And all that’s come therefrom on earth

Will back thereto be homing.

Wherefore it might be more than right

Had man as man ne’er started

Since once his life is charted

His time on earth’s so slight.

 

  

Emil Aarestrup (1800-1856): 'Erkjendelse'

ERKJENDELSE

 

At ikke jeg forlængst har hængt mig

Om hendes Hals, om hendes Knæ,

Og i mit Raserie har vovet -

Ja, hun maa troe, jeg er af Træ.

 

Men det er jeg paa ingen Maade;

O, gid jeg bare var af Træ!

Men, jeg er lidt moralsk, lidt dydig,

Og derfor egentlig et Fæ.

 

 

ADMISSION

 

That long ago my arms have never

Around her neck or knees been thrown,

Despite my turmoil nought’s been ventured -

Yes, she must think I’m made of stone.

 

Yet quite the opposite describes me;

Oh, were I only made of stone!

But I’m straight-laced, a trifle prudish,

A stupid ass if it be known.

  

B.S. Ingemann: 'Storken sidder paa Bondens Tag'

 

Storken sidder paa bondens tag

 

Storken sidder paa Bondens Tag;

Han seer over Mark og Enge.

Det bliver saa deilig en Foraarsdag;

Nu kommer den favre Tid, jeg vented saalænge.

 

Storken klapprer paa Bondens Tag,

Og Gjøgen kukker i Skoven.

Med Mailøv nu kommer skjøn Valborgs Dag;

Nu stiger der Pindseglands med Sol over Voven.

 

Storken flyver fra Bondens Tag;

Han spanker i gronne Enge.

Han kommer som Gjest til skjøn Valborgs Dag;

Han bringer den favre Tid, jeg vented saalænge.

 

Storken flyver til Hosten bort;

Han kommer igjen ad Aare.

Du Sommerens Gjest! dvæl ikke for kort!

Velkommen du favre Tid, jeg elsker saa saare!

 

 

See the stork on his farm-roof nest

 

See the stork on his farm-roof nest,

O'er meadows and fields he's gazing.

A lovely spring day will us soon have blessed,

My long-yearned for season's here with beauty amazing.

 

Hear the stork on the farm roof clack,

From woods the glad cuckoo's calling.

When trees are in leaf it means May Day's back;

Now Whitsun sun gilds the waves with lustre enthralling.

 

Now the stork leaves his farm-roof nest;

Through green meadows struts and gazes.

When May Day is here he's a much-loved guest;

He brings us the time of year whose beauty amazes.

 

Off the stork flies when autumn's nigh;

Next year he'll be back to cheer me.

You summertime guest! Delay your goodbye!

Oh welcome, fair time of year my heart loves so dearly!

 

 

B.S. Ingemann: 'Nu titte til hinanden de favre blomster smaa'

 

Nu titte til hinanden de favre blomster smaa

 

Nu titte til hinanden de favre Blomster smaa;

De muntre Fugle kalde paa hverandre;

Nu alle Jordens Børn deres Øine opslaae;

Nu Sneglen med Huus paa Ryg vil vandre.

 

Den kjære Gud og Skaber den mindste Orm er nær:

Han føder Fugl og Markens Lillie klæder;

Dog Menneskenes Børn har han allermeest kjær:

Gud aander paa Øiet, naar det græder.

 

Guds Søn var selv et Barn, og paa Krybbestraa han laae;

Hans Vugge stod paa Jord foruden Gjænge.

Guds Himmeriges Fryd har han lovet de Smaa

Og Blomster fra Paradisets Enge.

 

Guds Søn har os saa kjær; han er Børnevennen stor;

Han bærer Barnet op til Gud paa Armen;

Han Storm og Hav betvang, da han vandred paa Jord;

Men Børnene leged ham ved Barmen.

 

O Du, som os velsigned og tog i Favn de Smaa,

En Morgen see vi Dig i Paradiset!

Du lærte os til Gud vore Øine opslaae

Evindelig være Du lovpriset!

 

 

Small flowers now greet each other, they're peeping every one

 

Small flowers now greet each other, they're peeping every one;

The cheerful birds each other won't stop calling;

All earth's small children open their eyes to the sun;

The snail, house on board, will off be crawling.

 

For God our dear Creator no tiny worm's too small:

The birds he feeds, the lilies clothes in splendour;

Man's children even so are the dearest of all:

God breathes on moist eyes with mercy tender.

 

God's son was once a child, and on stable's straw he lay;

His cradle was a manger mean and lowly.

God's heavenly joy he's promised all children one day

And flowers from his heaven's meadows holy.

 

God's son holds us so dear; is the children's friend as well;

Each child to God upon his arm does carry;

 

 

He quelled the stormy wave when on earth he did dwell;

But safe at his breast do children tarry.

 

Oh you, who blessed us all, children held in your embrace,

In paradise one morning we shall view you!

You taught us to gaze upward in search of God's face -

Eternal shall be the praise that's due you!

 

 

B.S. Ingemann: 'Morgenstund har guld i mund' (1837)

 

Morgenstund har Guld i Mund

 

Morgenstund har Guld i Mund:

Morgensol Guds Rigdoms Væld oplukker;

Glad i gyldne Morgenstund

Fattigst Fugl i Straalehavet dukker.

 

Morgenglød gjør Kinden rød;

Morgenluft Guds Sundhedsbrønd omsuser:

Livets Væld i Morgenglød

Strømmer ud igjennem Himmelsluser.

 

Op i friske Morgenstund!

Fryd dig, Sjæl, som Fuglen i det Høie!

Fattigst Sjæl er riig og sund

Med Guds rige Herlighed for Øie.

 

 

Golden dawn sees us reborn

 

Golden dawn sees us reborn:

Morning sun unlocks God’s fount amazing;

Joyful in the golden dawn

Poorest bird in sea of sunlight’s bathing.

 

Dawn’s bright show sets cheeks aglow;

Morning breeze God’s spring of health enthuses:

Fount of life in dawn’s bright show

Now streams forth through heaven’s mighty sluices.

 

Greet the dawn, you soul reborn!

Sing as bird on high your joyful story!

Poorest soul is ne’er forlorn

At the wondrous sight of God’s rich glory.

 

N.F.S. Grundtvig: 'Morgenstund har Guld i Mund' (1853)

 

Morgenstund har Guld i Mund

 

Morgenstund

Har Guld i Mund,

For Natten Gud vi love,

Han lærde os, i Jesu Navn,

Som Barnet i sin Moders Favn,

Vi alle sødt kan sove!

 

Morgenstund

Har Guld i Mund,

Vi til vort Arbeid ile;

Som Fuglen glad i Skov og Vang

Udflyver med sin Morgensang,

Gienfødt ved Nattehvile!

 

Morgenstund

Har Guld i Mund,

Og Guld betyder Glæde,

Og glædelig er hver en Dag,

Som leves til Guds Velbehag,

Om end vi maatte Græde!

 

Gaae da frit

Enhver til sit,

Og stole paa Guds Naade!

Da faaer vi Lyst og Lykke til

At giøre Gavn, som Gud det vil,

Paa allerbedste Maade!

 

Soel opstaaer,

Og Soel nedgaaer,

Naar den har gjort sin Gierning,

Gud give os at skinne saa,

Som Himmellys, skiøndt af de smaa!

Da randt for os Guldterning.

 

 

Golden dawn sees us reborn

 

Golden dawn

Sees us reborn,

We praise God for night’s keeping;

He taught us all, through Jesu’s grace,

As child in mother’s warm embrace, 

Sweet rest when safely sleeping!

 

Golden dawn

Sees us reborn,

To daily work we hasten;

As birds in wood and meadow fly

With joyful song into the sky,

From night’s reincarnation!

 

Golden dawn

Sees us reborn,

And gold means joy and gladness,

And glad is he who every day

Would please his God in every way,

E’en when oppressed by sadness!

 

Freely make 

The path to take

On God’s great grace relying!

Then will our wish and fortune be

To do what’s fruitful constantly,

God’s wishes sanctifying!

 

Morning sun

Its course full run,

At evening has its setting;

God grant that we may shine as bright,

As heav’nly light, though we be slight!

Us golden joy begetting.

M. Vasalis: 'De winter en mijn lief zijn heen'

De winter en mijn lief zijn heen

 

De winter en mijn lief zijn heen.

Er zit een merel op het dak,

zijn keel beweegt, zijn snavel beeft

alsof hij in zichzelve sprak.

 

Hij luistert: uit een verre boom

klinkt als het ketsen van twee stenen

een vonkenregen van verlangen

zo luid, zo helder en zo bang.

 

De merel stort zich met een kreet

vol wildheid in de voorjaarsvlagen.

Ik kan het bijna niet verdragen:

mijn voorjaar en mijn lief zijn heen.

 

 

The winter and my love are gone

 

The winter and my love are gone.

Up on the roof a blackbird sits,

its throat astir, its beak aquake

as if within itself it spoke.

 

It listens: from a distant tree

there comes a sound like two stones clacking

a spark-filled rain of outpoured longing,

so loud, so clear-cut and so scared.

 

The blackbird with a primal screech

itself into the spring gusts flings.

And this my heart so sorely wrings:

my springtime and my love are gone.

Stefan George: 'Es lacht in dem steigenden Jahr dir...'

 

Es lacht in dem steigenden jahr dir

Der duft aus dem garten noch leis.

Flicht in dem flatternden haar dir

Eppich und ehrenpreis.

 

Die wehende saat ist wie gold noch ·

Vielleicht nicht so hoch mehr und reich ·

Rosen begrüssen dich hold noch ·

Ward auch ihr glanz etwas bleich.

 

Verschweigen wir was uns verwehrt ist ·

Geloben wir glücklich zu sein ·

Wenn auch nicht mehr uns beschert ist

Als noch ein rundgang zu zwein.

 

 

Late scent in the fast-rising year from

The garden laughs softly to you. 

Braids in your fluttering hair some

Ivy and speedwell’s blue. 

 

The ripe swaying corn is still golden

Perhaps not so tall and so hale ·

Roses still greet unwithholden ·

Though their bright sheen’s somewhat pale.

 

Let’s choose to conceal what is owed us ·

Let’s vow that our joy’s always new·

Though nothing more is bestowed us

Than just a saunter for two.

 

 

Set to music by, among others, Einojuhani Rautavaara: Serenade no. 3

Lennart Sjögren: 'En räv med skabb'

 

En räv med skabb

 

Du som tror på en lycklig värld

ge dig tid att en stund stanna

hos räven - den skabbitne.

 

Du skall se hur den ormlikt vrider sig

och biter sitt eget kött

du skall se ett stort sår där förut

var en kropp.

 

Och skabbens ägg öppnar sig

och de gläds en stund åt sitt nyvaknande

så som allt levande gör

i det brinnande såret har de sitt goda bo.

 

Frågan är

hur vi skall orka följa rävens färd

till sin långsamma och sönderrivna död

utan

att få ett ansikte av trä.

 

Långt före medeltidens spanska stövlar

dog djur så här

och de skall dö så här

och folk skall dö så här

och deras död skall vara mättad av plåga.

 

Bäst har de småleende och i själen blinda

sämst har räven i sin utdragna död

och allra sämst

har skabben som dör i brist på räv.

 

 

A fox with mange

 

You who believe in a happy world

take time to linger for a while

with the fox – one afflicted by mange.

 

You will see how it squirms like a snake

biting its own flesh

you will see one large wound where before

there was a body.

 

And the mange mite’s eggs open

and rejoice for a while in their new awakening

as do all living things 

they have their fine lair in the raging wound.

 

The question is

how are we ever to follow the fox’s journey

to its slow and ripped-up death

without

our faces turning to wood.

 

Long before the Spanish boot of medieval times

animals died like this

and they will die like this

and people will die like this

and their death will be saturated in torment.

 

Best fare the smiling and those blind of soul

worst the fox in its protracted death

and worst of all

the mange that dies for lack of fox.

B.S. Ingemann: 'Lysets Engel gaaer med Glands'

 

B.S. Ingemann's 'Morgensange for Børn' ( 1837) and 'Syv Aftensange' (1838) are among the most well-known poems in the Danish language, due in part to Weyse's fine musical arrangements of them. These morning and evening songs have a distinctly Romantic view of childhood and an idyllic atmosphere. Their language is on the whole simple, with the occasional archaic throwback to a 'kings and castles' mode. Aksel Schiøtz has recorded many of the songs, but, as so often happens with Weyse's 6/8 and 2/4 melodies, they are turned into plodding 4/4 and thereby lose a lot of their lightness and momentum. There is an interesting arrangement for soprano and contralto duet + piano of these songs by V.E. Bielefeldt - highly usable for church concerts I have discovered. Audiences gasp at the tempo, but the songs come to life.

 

Gleaming bright, light’s angel see

 

Gleaming bright, light’s angel see

pass through heaven’s portal.

All of night’s black shadows flee

at God’s angel’s radiance immortal.

 

God’s light in his eye, the sun

o’er the world is gliding:

see! God’s envoy has begun,

high above on golden clouds he’s riding.

 

O’er the earth the angel spreads

God’s skies in their gleaming,

in his cloak of gauze-like threads

he enfolds the world so gaily teeming.

 

Rich man, poor man, great and small,

on them both sun’s peeping,

from above he sees them all,

kisses infants in their cradles sleeping.

 

Us the angel from on high

too would be embracing;

us he smiles at from the sky,

as God’s heav’nly gleam he’s tracing.

 

Us too does our Lord hold dear:

on each soul he gazes;

in each sunbeam God is near

and he hears our joyous morning praises.