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“I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH.”
("ICH SCHLAFE, ABER MEIN HERZ WACHET.”).
Ah, could I but be still, and gently fall asleep,
My God, in Thy deep Peace!
And all distractions cease.
Ah, that I could be still ! the eye looks here and there ;
Wild thoughts disturb the breast : Reason would speculate; the mind roams forth abroad;
The will is not at rest.
Whilst, troubled and disturbed, the scattered senses fly,
Thus grieve I evermore :
To Thee, my God, doth soar.
Unmoved by all, and strange to all that stirs without,
As one whose life is gone,
Given to Thee alone.
Go, World, and seek for joy! I here have joy enough;
I need not begging go:
My heart I do not show.
Thus, bare of all things, to Thy Heart I creep unseen;
There stillest Thou my woes i
And in Thy Peace repose.
THE SPIRITUAL FORGE.
(DIE GEISTLICHE SCHMIEDEKUNST.)
A ROUGH and shapeless block of iron is my heart;
So hard, so cold—The Master cannot use it'so. Love must my Furnace be :- I enter in through prayer:
I keep quite still, and leave the smoking fire to glow.
Then doth the gentle wind of Love begin to breathe :
I hold me still—and let the hotter flame burn on. The iron's blackness must be melted quite away: When softened and made fair, the Fire's fierce work is
The way of self-denial, and of daily death
This is the Anvil upon which my soul I lay.
Till, turned and bent, the softened ore at last gives way.
Yet still, it will not wholly yield in every part ;
One, who with rougher, stronger hammer strikes the blows: .
Strike on, O Mighty One! thus soon will end my sorrow.
The Master's Hand directeth all the work full well :
According as the fashioning doth most require, The strokes must fall. And now once more the ore He lays
Within the Flame;—and strokes again succeed the Fire.
Whilst in that glowing heat, “The Iron shines;” methought, “All clear and bright:-now, surely, soon the work is
done!” But when the burning was withdrawn, all cold, and black,
And shapeless grew the metal:—thus my hope was gone.
On the Refining-Board of inner woe and pain,
Next must the ore, in all its coldness, firm be pressed. The keen-edged File must work—a thousand splinters
fly :Now follow finer, closer strokes, upon the rest.
O Master, Who this art dost understand aright,
Make Thou my soul well fitted for Thy use at last! Not o'er my heart may polished brightness seem to shine
But, inly chastened, let me in Thy Fire stand fast !
THE BLESSED WALK IN GOD'S PRESENCE.
(DER SELIGE WANDEL IN DER GEGENWART
God, in Whom I have my being,
Live, and move, for evermore ;-
In Thy Nearness, I adore !
God's own House and Gate of Heaven
Standeth here, and all around :
Though so late I Thee have found.
Forth I gazed on this world's objects ;
Though so near, I saw not Thee.
Thou, my God, did'st dwell in me !