06 November 2010

Herr, ich habe mißgehandelt (suppl.)

Here is my supplement of the hymn "Lord, to Thee I Make Confession" (tr. Winkworth, 1862), a translation of Johann Franck's "Herr, ich habe mißgehandelt" (1649). I also include Winkworth's stanza 2, omitted from, e.g., ELHB#416, TLH#326, etc., the translation of which obscures somewhat the reference to Psalm 139, though the sense is sufficiently conveyed. Additionally, I have provided an alternate stanza 7 for comparison. As usual, Miss Winkworth has shied away from speaking of Christs wounds directly. While one may agree with her distaste for the maudlin sentiments conveyed by stanzas 4–6, I would think that one should be less inclined to do so especially with regard that stanza. I also suggest an amendment to make the sense flow better; the sense of "hiding," (and what the right Place to "hide" is) runs through the whole hymn and is seen better this way. It is interesting to note that the hymn was not included in Walther's Hymnal (the St. Louis hymnal), though Crüger's great tune was specified for #264, "Ach! was sind wir ohne Jesum?" (Oh, What Are We Without Jesus), translated in 2009.

LORD, to Thee I make confession;

I have sinned and gone astray,

I have multiplied transgression,

Chosen for myself my way.

Led by Thee to see my errors,

Lord, I tremble at Thy terrors. [or I would hide me Thy terrors.]

2. But from Thee how can I hide me?
Thou, O God, art everywhere.
Refuge from Thee is denied me,
Or by land or sea or air;
Nor death's darkness can enfold me
So that Thou shouldst not behold me.

3. Yet, though conscience’s voice appall me,

Father, I will seek Thy face;

Tho’ Thy child I dare not call me,

Yet receive me to Thy grace.

Do not for my sins forsake me;

Do not let Thy wrath o’ertake me.

4. Though a man the sands may number
Bounding all the earthly seas,

Still the weights that me encumber—

Yea, my vast iniquities,

Would, O Lord, be higher mounting

Then man hath the pow’r of counting.

5. Weep, oh, weep at God’s displeasure,

Ye mine eyes, a river broad!

Oh, that I had tears in measure

To bemoan my shameful load;
Oh, that from these wells unwilling

I might stronger streams be spilling!

6. Oh, if but more bitter torrents
Might o’erflow my stony face,

And mine eyes with crimson currents

These dry fountains might replace!

Oh, if only as the ocean

They might billow with devotion.

7. For Thy Son did suffer for me,

Gave Himself to rescue me,
Died to heal me and restore me,
Reconciled me unto Thee.

’Tis alone His cross can vanquish

These dark fears and soothe this anguish.

7 (more literal). Yet, O Christ, Thy bloody members,—
Yea, one drop thereof abounds

With the pow’r to snuff the embers

Of my sins, and mend my wounds.

Therefore I, to quench my anguish

Hide me in Thy wounds that vanquish.

8. Then on Him I cast my burden,

Sink it in the depths below.

Let me know Thy gracious pardon,

Wash me, make me white as snow.

Let Thy Spirit leave me never;

Make me only Thine forever.

Translation sts. 4, 5, 6, and 7 (alternate) © Matthew Carver, 2010.

1. Herr, ich habe mißgehandelt,
Ja, mich drückt der Sünden Last
Ich bin nicht den Weg gewandelt,
den du mir gezeiget hast.
Und ich woll jetzt gern aus Schrecken
Mich vor deinem Zorn verstecken.

2. Doch wie könnt' ich dir entfliehen?
Du wirst allenthalben sein.
Wollt ich über See gleich ziehen,
Stieg' ich in die Gruft hinein,
Hätt' ich Flügel gleich den Winden,
Gleichwohl würdest du mich finden.

3. Drum, ich muß es nur bekennen,
Herr, ich habe mißgethan,
Darf mich nicht dein Kind mehr nennen;
'Ach, nimm mich zu Gnaden an!
Laß die Menge meiner Sünden
Deinen Zorn nicht gar entzünden.

4. Könnt' ein Mensch den Sand gleich zählen
An dem weiten Mittelmeer,
Dennoch würd' es ihm wohl fehlen,
Daß er meiner Sünden Heer,
Daß er alle mein' Gebrechen
Sollte wissen auszusprechen.

5. Wein', ach, wein' jetzt um die Wette,
Meiner beiden Augen Bach,
O daß ich güug Zähren hätte,
Zu betrauern meine Schmach.
O daß aus dem Thränenbronnen
Kam' ein starker Strom geronnen!

6. Ach, daß doch die strengen Fluthen
Ueberschwemmten mein Gesicht,
Und die Augen möchten bluten,
Weil mir Wasser sonst gebricht!
Ach, daß sie wie Meereswellen
Möchten in die Höhe schwellen.

7. Jedoch, Christe, deine Beulen,
Ja, ein einzig Tröpflein Blut,
Das kann meine Wunden heilen,
Löschen meiner Sünden Glut.
Drum will ick, mein' Angst zu stillen,
Mich in deine Wunden hüllen.

8. Dir will ich die Last aufbinden,
Wirf sie in,die tiefste See;
Wasche mich von meinen Sünden,
Mache mich so weiß als Schnee.
Laß den guten Geist mich treiben,
Einzig stets bei dir zu bleiben.

No comments: