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- A SONG OF THE CROSS.
A SONG OF THE CROSS.
Frisch, frisch hindurch, mein Geist und Herz
[282]Wolfgang Dessler
trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1869
Courage, my heart, press cheerly on
Along the thorny way,
For joy shall come with victory won,
Though pain be ours to-day:
Nor shrink the load to take
Which love shall easy make;
Can these light transient woes compare
With glory that awaits us there?
'Twas by a path of sorrows drear
Christ entered into rest;
And shall I look for roses here
Or think that earth is blest?
Heaven's whitest lilies blow
From earth's sharp crown of woe,
Who here his cross can meekly bear
Shall wear the kingly purple there.
Where would the garden's splendour be
If north and south winds slept?
Its spices flow most fragrantly
When long the clouds have wept.
Only do Thou remain
My Rest in every pain,
My Sun that cheers me still with light,
When storms of grief would else affright.
For Thou, my God, art Sun and Shield
To every faithful heart,
That to be made like Thee would yield
To trial's fiercest smart,
Would bear earth's darkest woe
If Heaven may but bestow
On patient love the martyr's palm,
For vanquished grief, Thy perfect calm.
And yet, dear Lord, this shrinking heart
Still trembles as of yore:
Come, Cross beloved, nor e'er depart
Till I have learnt Thy lore!
Here, scorned with Him I love,
There, crowned with Him above;
Here to the cross with Jesus pressed,
There comforted with Him and blest.
Then I will meekly yield me up
To suffer all Thy will;
I know the seeming bitter cup
O'erflows with mercy still;
In every cross I'll see
The crown that waits for me,
Thy patience shines and beckons on
Until the starry heights are won.