If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven, to me?
Without Thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet, sadness;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness;
Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have their being, when compared with Thee.
In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labors got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what farther crave I?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish not sea, nor land; nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of THEE!
By PAUL GERHARDT: Translated by CATHERINE WINKWORTH.
The following touching and beautiful stanzas were written by Paul Gerhardt in 1650, on the death of his son.
HOU'RT mine, yes, still thou art mine own!
Who tells me thou art lost?
But yet thou art not mine alone,
I own that He who cross'd
My hopes, hath greatest right in thee;
Yea, though He ask and take from me
Thee, O my son, my heart's delight,
My wish, my thought, by day and night.
Ah might I wish, ah might I choose,
Then thou, my star shouldst live,
And gladly for thy sake I'd lose
All else that life can give.
Oh fain I'd say: Abide with me,
The sunshine of my house to be,
No other joy but this I crave,
To love thee, darling, to my grave!
Thus saith my heart, and means it well,
God meaneth better still;
My love is more than words can tell,
His love is greater still;
I am a father, He the Head
And Crown of fathers, whence is shed The life and love from which have sprung All blessed ties in old and young.
I long for thee, my son, my own,
And He who once hath given,
Will have thee now beside His throne,
To live with Him in heaven.
I cry, Alas! my light, my child!
But God hath welcome on him smiled,
And said, "My child I keep thee near,
For there is nought but gladness here."
O blessed word, O deep decree,
More holy than we think!
With God no grief or woe can be,
No bitter cup to drink,
No sickening hopes, no want or care,
No hurt can ever reach him there;
Yes, in that Father's sheltered home
I know that sorrow cannot come.
We pass our nights in wakeful thought
For our dear children's sake;
All day our anxious toil hath sought
How best for them to make
A future safe from care or need,
Yet seldom do our schemes succeed;
How seldom does their future prove
What we had planned for those we love!
How many a child of promise fair
Ere now hath gone astray,
By ill example taught to dare
Forsake Christ's holy way.
O fearful the reward is then,
The wrath of God, the scorn of men!
The bitterest tears that e'er are shed
Are his who mourns a child misled.
But now I need not fear for thee,
Where thou art, all is well;
For thou thy Father's face doth see
With Jesus thou dost dwell!
Yes, cloudless joys around him shine,
His heart shall never ache like mine,
He sees the radiant armies glow
That keep and guide us here below.
He hears their singing evermore,
His little voice too sings,
He drinks of wisdom deepest love,
He speaks of secret things,
That we can never see or know
Howe'er we seek or strive below,
While yet amid the mists we stand
That veil this dark and tearful land.
O that I could but watch afar,
And hearken but awhile
To that sweet song that hath no jar,
And see his heavenly smile,
As he doth praise the holy God
Who made him pure for that abode!
In tears of joy full well I know
This burdened heart would overflow.
And I should say: Stay there, my son,
My wild laments are o'er,
O well for thee that thou hast won,
I call thee back no more;
But come, thou fiery chariot, come,
And bear me swiftly to that home
Where he with many a loved one dwells,
And evermore of gladness tells!
Then be it as my Father wills,
I will not weep for thee;
Thou livest, joy thy spirit fills,
Pure sunshine thou dost see,
The sunshine of eternal rest;
Abide my child where thou art blest;
I with our friends will onward fare,
And when God wills, shall find thee there.
WHERE I SHALL WITH MY JESUS be.
NE who is weary with this load,
Faint with the sun,
Would fain have done,
And craves long shadows on the road;
That after so much labor past
He may sleep sweet and sound at last.
But all my longing is with Thee,
Jesus, my only rest, to be!
Another doth pursue his trade
By wave and cliff,
Where his frail skiff
Is tempest tossed and he afraid.
But I will faith-wings spread, and fly
Up, past the star-hills of the sky!
For, Jesus, Thou alone shall be
The end of pilgrimage to me.
Come, death! sleep's only brother thou!
Come, take the helm
And through thy realm.
To the sure harbor guide my prow.
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