Dend XI. Sang
Renouncing the World's Vanity
The speaker rejects the fleeting, deceptive nature of worldly wealth, honor, and pleasure.
Father, world, farewell, I’m tired of being your servant now, The burdens you’ve piled on me, I shake them off and will disregard them, I break free, and I’m tired of vanity, Vanity. After all, what is it that the world dresses up with false appearances? It's only shadows and shining illusions, only bubbles and laughing vessels, only the husks of ice, filth, and regret—vanity, vanity. What are my years, which fade away stealthily and pass by quietly? What is my concern? What is my troubled mind? What is my sorrow? What is my joy? What is my head's web? What is my work? What is my toil? What is my sweat? Vanity, vanity. O wealth and gold, you earthly idol made of shining dust, you are truly a deceptive thing of this world, which grows, diminishes, and changes all around. Even at your highest honor and reward, you are vanity, vanity. Ah, honor, what is it? What are the crowns and garlands you carry? Envy sits heavily on your back, you secretly stumble and are seldom safe! You often stumble where others glide; vanity, vanity. Ah, Delight and Favor, you mist that rises and falls so quickly, you strange wind that blows—like thousands who have eyes yet run blind—what are you when a man sees you by the light of the sun? Vanity, vanity. Ah, Friendship and Faith, As everything depends on Luck, you know how to twist the fate! You beautiful deceiver, lucky rogue, who so often disappoints in the cup of temptation, you are—as I also know from my own folly—vanity, vanity. Ah, destructive desire, that so many have kissed with mortal lips; your enticing lure and fleeting spark have led many into eternal flames. Your cup seems sweet, but the drink is bitter—vanity, vanity.
The Hope of Eternal Rest
The speaker turns away from the world to find true, permanent joy and security in the presence of Jesus and the bosom of Abraham.
Goodbye, goodbye; you won't deceive my soul any longer, deceptive world. I thank you for what you've given, and I sink down into the grave of forgetfulness. I long to atone for my sorrow and need in Abraham's bosom, in Abraham's bosom. My years will begin in the delightful waters of eternity; the day won't dawn for me by the sun, nor will the moon signal grace and renewal for me. But Jesus is the Sun, whose rays are scattered in the bosom of Abraham. My wealth and gold will be full of pure permanence; it won't let the thief steal from me, nor will cunning trick me away. My riches are free from all worldly blows, in Abraham's bosom, in Abraham's bosom. I will receive glory from the throne where my Jesus sits above; I'll be given a crown, filled with splendor and gilded with the blood of the Lamb. I will receive it, even if Satan himself regrets it. With love, I will shine among the holy ranks of angels; no envious eye will see me. God's face will always smile upon me. There, I will mock the envious death in the lineage of Abraham, in the lineage of Abraham. There I have a Friend, my Jesus, who loves and is loved in return; my eye sees Him as He truly is. His love always brings forth the heavenly glow of affection, and in the Spirit, love stands eternally aglow in the embrace of Abraham. The sound of angelic trumpets refreshes my joy and delight, but God is the ultimate joy for both them and me. Rise up, my soul, and forget the whole world. Don't forget that joy is eternal and sweet in the embrace of Abraham.
Read the original Latin
Far, Verden, far vel, Jeg keedis nu længer at være din Træl, De Byrder, som du mig har bylted oppaa, Dem hvister jeg fra mig og vil dem forsmaa, Jeg river mig løß, og jeg keedis nu ved Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Hvad er det dog alt Som Verden opsminker med fauer Gestalt? Det er jo kun Skygger og skinnende Glar, Det er jo kun Bobler og skrattende Kar, Det er jo kun Ise-skrog, Skarn og Fortred, Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Hvad er mine Aar, Som smugende svinder og snigende gaar? Hvad er min Bekymring? mit Tanke-fuld Sind? Min Sorrig? min Glæde? mit Hovedis Spind? Hvad er mit Arbeyde? min Møye?
min Sved? Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
O Riigdom og Guld, Du Jorderiigs Afgud i skinnende Muld, Du est dog af Verdens bedragelig Ting, Som voxer, aftager og vexlis omkring, Du est dog, i høyeste Mercke og Meed, Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Ach, Ære, hvad er? Hvad er dine Kroner og Krandse du bær? Misundelse sidder dig aldjd paa Ryg, Du hemmelig stødis og sielden est tryg! Du ofte der snubler, hvor andre de gleed, Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Ach, Yndist og Gunst, Du hastig opførte og faldende Dunst, Du konstig opblæsere, hvegende Vind, Som tusind har Øyen og dog løber blind, Hvad est du naar mand dig ved Soolen hâr seed? Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Ach, Venskab og Troo, Som alt efter Lykken veedst Fløyet at snoo! Du smukke Bedragere, heldige Skalk, Som skuffer saa ofte i Drøfvelsens Kalk Du est, som og jeg af Forfarenhed veed, Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Ach, kiødelig Lyst, Som mangen med dødelig Læber hâr kyst, Dit fengende Tynder, din flyvende Gnist, Hâr mangen i ævige Luer henhvist, Din Skaal synis Hunning, men Drikken er leed Forfængelighed, Forfængelighed.
Saa far da, far vel, Du skalt nu ey lenger bedrage min Siæl, Bedragelig Verden, jeg takker dig af, Og synker dig ned i Forglemmelsens Grav, Jeg lengis at bøde min Sorrig og Nød I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Der skal mine Aar Begyndis i Ævigheds deylige Vaaer, Der skal ikke Dagen ved Solen opgry, Ey Maanen tilmaale mig Næde og Ny, Men JEsus er Solen, hvis Straaler er strød I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Min Rigdom og Guld Skal være af idel Bestandighed fuld, Dend skal ikke Tyven bestiele mig da, Dend skal ey Spitzfindighed skakre mig fra, Min Rigdom er frj for ald Jorderigs Stød I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Jeg Ære skal faa Fra Thronen min JEsus hand sidder oppaa, Mig Kronen skal givis med Herlighed fyldt, Med Blodet af Lammet alt over forgyldt, Dend faar jeg, om Satan end selv det fortrød, I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Med Yndist jeg skal Fremskinne blant Englenis hellige Tall, Misundeligt Øye mig ikke skal see, GUds Ansigt mig altjd i Øyne skal lee, Der skal jeg bespotte dend avindsyg Død I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Der hâr jeg en Ven, Min JEsus, som elsker og elskis igien, Mit Øye der seer ham saadan som hand er, Hand Kierligheds Himmel-bluß stedse frembær, Ved Aanden staar Kierlighed ævig i Glød I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
Min Lyst og min Fryd Forfriskis ved Engle-basuner og Lyd, Men GUd er ald Lysten for mig og for dem! Far op da, min Siæl, og ald Verden forglem! Mens glem ey at Lysten er ævig og sød I Abrahams Skiød, I Abrahams Skiød.
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