Dend IV. Sang
The Burden of Sin and Worldly Vanity
The speaker laments the pervasive nature of sin, the fragility of worldly foundations, and the deceitfulness of human relationships.
Ah! Lord, look at the fear in my heart; help me, help me, for I am afraid! A sinful drink has pierced my heart, like a sting that bites like a snake. The bread of Adam leads to a double death, recorded a thousand times against me; only one bread, as countless as the sand by the waters of Hafsen, is cast away from me. When the sun shines so brilliantly in God's heavens, let both great and small things stand before me and swarm before my eyes. From the top of my head, my sinful body is rightly in need of healing at the feet of the Lord; it is full of wounds, every hair on my head bears scars, and I must endure this pain. Indeed, my poor soul thinks, I want to defend my path, but before I know it, I go off my way onto the bed of sin, into traps, falls, and snares. I trust that my house stands on the solid rock of the world; but if even a little water washes away my foundation, then I must let go of my hope. My friend is to me, so disappointing, like flowing water and streams; I in his arms and false embrace, to the harm of souls, he has let me drift. There’s no foundation in hand or mouth on which a person can now build: every heart is a snare, every oath is filth, every rogue is like a child, and every promise is just a shadow.
A Cry for Mercy and Grace
The speaker turns to God in prayer, acknowledging their unworthiness while pleading for the crumbs of divine grace.
For you, for me, I complain, faithful God and Lord; my heart beats, my soul is burdened, my sin is heavy. Help me, Jesus, to bear it. I never fell, It’s quite a lot, How often I don’t even know: I haven’t done, White or black, Little or big, You know it down to the dot. I am therefore lame, lying at your footstool, because of sin and shame! O Jesus, come! Turn the sword around—a gracious judgment—I beg of your goodness. But you should respond with justice and fairness, even when you're in a hurry or angry; a person ought to stand firm in their rights when children take away their bread to spare it for dogs. O Savior, even if I am like a dog, let me still gather the crumbs that fall from Your table; my hunger is great, O Word of Truth, and I will seek the crumbs of grace at Your table. Even if I have to walk in despair all day, and even if I feel completely abandoned throughout the long night, you will still come in the morning. Let the world say It finds no joy in me, And do not let me be ashamed: Let my enemy Not delight in my downfall, But let a green Branch of grace reach me. You are indeed the Lord and Savior who searches the depths of the heart; see that I am filled with evil desire, a deceitful hypocrite. So do not spare your troubles. While you still have your bow drawn and a little help to lean on, I stand firmly on the watch of hope, by the power of faith, and yet I wait for your grace.
The Assurance of Redemption
The speaker finds peace through the cleansing power of Jesus' blood and concludes with eternal praise.
The precious Blood that Jesus shed from His heart has purified me from the stain of sin; my heart will no longer be found wanting. Eternal praise be to You, O Triune God! My tongue will forever sing Your praise among the assembly of angels in heaven.
Read the original Latin
Ach! HErre see Min Hierte-vee Hielp, hielp, thi jeg er bange! En syndig Drik Mit Hierte fik, Som giør mig Stik, Og bider som en Slange.
Det Adam brød Til dobbelt Død, Mig tusindfold opskrivis: Eet brød kun hand, Utald, som Sand Hos Hafsens Vand, Er de af mig bedrivis.
Naar Solen sig Saa prægtelig Udstraaler paa GUds Himle, Feyl stoor’ og smaa, I hver en Vraa, Strax for mig staa Og for min’ Øyne vrimle.
Fra Hoved-top Min syndig Krop Ræt need til Fodens Saale, Er fuld af Saar, Hvert Hoved-haar Har Skad’ og Skaar, Dend smerte maa jeg taale.
Tiit tænker vel Min arme Siæl, Jeg vil min Gang forvare, Men før jeg veed, Gaar af min Leed Paa Syndsens Beed, Til Strikke, Fald og Snare.
Jeg stoler paa, Mit Huus at staa Paa Verdens faste Klippe: Men lidet Vand Læt skylle kand Min Grund aff Stand, Saa jeg mit Haab maa slippe.
Min Ven er mig, Saa skuffelig, Som Flyde-vand og Bekke, Jeg i hans Arm Og falske Barm, Til Siæle-harm Mig og har ladet giekke.
Der er ey Grund I Haand og Mund, Hvorpaa mand nu kand bygge: Hvert Hiert’ er Garn, Hver Eed er Skarn, Hver Skalk som Barn, Hvert Løfte som en Skygge.
For dig, for mig Jeg klager mig, Trofaste GUd og HErre, Mit Hierte slaer, Min Siæl er baer, Min Synd er svaer, Hielp, JEsu, dend at bære.
Jeg aldrig faldt, Det er jo tallt, Hvor tiit veed jeg dog ikke: Jeg har ey giort, Hvit eller sort, Lit eller stort, Du veedst det jo til Prikke.
Jeg derfor lam Af Synd og Skam Paa din Fodskammel ligger! O JEsu kom! Vendt Sverdet om, En naadig Dom, Jeg af din Godhed tigger.
Dog maat du vel Med Ræt og Skiel I Hast og Vrede svare: Mand bør jo paa Sin Ræt at staa, Naar Børn de taae Sit Brød for Hund’ at spare.
O Frelsermand, For Hunde kand Dog Herre-smuler vanke: Min Trang er stoor, O Sandheds Ord, Jeg hos dit Bord Vil Naade-smuler sanke.
Og om jeg maa Utrøstet gaa, Dend gandske Dag i Sorgen, Og om jeg plat Dend lange Nat Er slæt forlat, Du kommer dog i morgen.
Lad Verden sig Ey glæd’ i mig, Og giør mig ey til Skamme: Lad min Uven Ey lee mit Meen, Men lad en Green Af Naadens Riis mig ramme.
Du est dog dend Der Herr’ og Svend I Nyrene randsager, Ser du jeg er Af ond Begiær En Hykkler skiær, Spar da ey dine Plager.
Mens har Du end Din Bue spend, Og lit med Hielpen lenter, Jeg staar saa sagt Paa Haabets Vagt, Ved Troens Magt, Og dog din Naade venter.
Det dyre Blood Som JEsus lood Udaf sit Hierte rinde, Har giort mig reen Af Syndsens Meen, Min Hierte-steen Skal jeg ey meere finde.
Des være dig Ævindelig Treenig GUd din Ære! Min Tunge skal Blant Engle-tall I Himlens Sall Dig ævig Lov frembære.
Spiritual Songs (Selection) companion
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