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Frisch, frisch hindurch, mein Geist und Herz

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.

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