Seventh Sunday after Trinity. O Lord, How Manifold are Thy Works; in Wisdom Hast Thou Made them All; the Earth is Full of Thy Riches.
O Lord, how manifold are Thy works; in wisdom hast Thou made them all; the earth is full of Thy riches.

Psalm 104:24


Geh aus, mein Herz, und suche Freud

[104]Paul Gerhardt.1659.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

Go forth, my heart, and seek delight

In all the gifts of God's great might,

These pleasant summer hours:

Look how the plains for thee and me

Have decked themselves most fair to see,

All bright and sweet with flowers.

The trees stand thick and dark with leaves,

And earth o'er all here dust now weaves

A robe of living green;

Nor silks of Solomon compare

With glories that the tulips wear,

Or lilies' spotless sheen.

The lark soars singing into space,

The dove forsakes her hiding-place,

And coos the woods among;

The richly-gifted nightingale,

Pours forth her voice o'er hill and dale,

And floods the fields with song.

Here with her brood the hen doth walk,

There builds and guards his nest the stork,

The fleet-winged swallows pass;

The swift stag leaves his rocky home,

And down the light deer bounding come

To taste the long rich grass.

The brooks rush gurgling through the sand,

And from the trees on either hand,

Cool shadows o'er them fall;

The meadows at their side are glad

With herds; and hark! the shepherd lad

Sends forth his mirthful call.

And humming, hovering to and fro,

The never-wearied swarms no go

To seek their honey'd food;

And through the vine's yet feeble shoots

Stream daily upwards from her roots

New strength and juices good.

The corn springs up, a wealth untold,

A sight to gladden young and old,

Who now their voices lift

To Him who gives such plenteous store,

And makes the cup of life run o'er

With many a noble gift.

Thy mighty working, mighty God,

Wakes all my powers; I look abroad

And can no longer rest:

I too must sing when all things sing,

And from my heart the praises ring

The Highest loveth best.

I think, Art Thou so good to us,

And scatterest joy and beauty thus

O'er this poor earth of ours;

What nobler glories shall be given

Hereafter in Thy shining heaven,

Set round with golden towers!

What thrilling joy when on our sight

Christ's garden beams in cloudless light,

Where all the air is sweet,

Still laden with the unwearied hymn

From all the thousand seraphim

Who God's high praise repeat!

Oh were I there! Oh that I now,

Dear God, before Thy throne could bow,

And bear my heavenly palm!

Then like the angels would I raise

My voice, and sing Thy endless praise

In many a sweet-toned psalm.

Nor can I now, O God, forbear,

Though still this mortal yoke I wear,

To utter oft Thy name;

But still my heart is bent to speak

Thy praises; still, though poor and weak,

Would I Thy love proclaim.

But help me; let Thy heavenly showers

Revive and bless my fainting powers,

And let me thrive and grow

Beneath the summer of Thy grace,

And fruits of faith bud forth apace

While yet I dwell below.

And set me, Lord, in Paradise

When I have bloomed beneath these skies

Till my last leaf is flown;

Thus let me serve Thee here in time,

And after, in that happier clime,

And Thee, my God, alone!

sixth sunday after trinity know
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