Mit fröhlichem Gemüthe

Here is my translation of the psalm paraphrase, “Mit fröhlichem Gemüthe” (Cornelius Becker, d. 1604), based on Psalm IX, Confitebor tibi Domine, for which the melody normally assigned is “Ich dank dir, lieber Herre.”

Vierling (Biblia, 709f.) writes: “It is a prophecy of youth, that is, of new children and of the people of Christ, which is precious Christendom, and how, following the example of Christ, it also must suffer and continually shed its blood. But this prophecy acts as thanksgiving and consolation, so that it may also be called a psalm of thanksgiving and consolation. For Christendom, and in particular the holy martyrs, here thank God and take comfort in the fact that God does not forsake them, but continually increases them they more they are persecuted, until some of the persecutors are converted and become Christians, and others perish. It pertains to the First Commandment and the Second Petition, as said above in the previous psalm.”

 

WITH joyful heart and spirit,
Lord, I give thanks to Thee,
For so Thy grace doth merit,
Since Thou deliv’rest me!
Thou hast my foes defeated,
And dost my cause maintain.
Thou, Judge, in heaven seated,
Sett’st all to right again!

2 Thou dost rebuke the nations,
The wicked Thou dost rout,
Dost break their machinations,
And put their mem’ry out.
Thy name endures forever,
Thy throne prepared doth stand,
And it can fail Thee never,
When Thou dost rule the land.

3 O Refuge for th’ oppressèd,
Resort in time of need!
Thou pitiest the distressèd;
All who to Thee give heed,
Their trust shall never waver,
And they adore Thy name.
And Thou wilt be their Savior,
Nor countest it a shame.

4 The Lord in Zion dwelleth,
His hearth and home are there;
Praise Him who all excelleth,
His name to all declare!
He ne’er forgets the humble,
He is their safe abode
When wars around them rumble,
And shall avenge their blood.

5 Grace, Lord, I pray Thee, send me,
Behold my trouble great;
Assist me and defend me
From those my soul who hate;
From throes of death dost bring me,
Therefore with joy I’ll boast,
And all Thy praises sing Thee
Among Thy Christian host.

6 They who have God forsaken
Sink in the pit they made;
And their own foot is taken
Within the net they laid;
All things must follow rightly
When judged by God the Lord,
Who snares the wicked tightly
With His almighty Word.

7 Alas, they shall be turnèd
To hell forevermore
Who by their lust this earnèd
And did God’s Word deplore!
The Lord will not forever
The needy man forget,
He’ll grant them grace and favor
Within their mis’ry yet.

8 Arise, O Lord and Savior,
Bring judgment to the land
Lest wicked heathen ever
Obtain the upper hand;
Lord, make the nations cower
And cast away their spite,
Since mortal is their power,
And Thine is boundless might.

Translation © 2024 Matthew Carver.

GERMAN

Mit fröhlichem Gemüthe,
Dank ich dir, höchſter Gott,
Und freu mich deiner Güte,
Daß du mir hilffſt aus Noth.
Jagſt, ſchlegſt, bringſt umb die Feinde,
führſt aus mein Sach zurecht,
Du Richter allgemeine,
Machſt alles guth und ſchlecht.

2  Die Heyden tuſtu ſtraffen,
Bringſt die Gottloſen umb,
Zerbrichſt ihr Wehr und Waffen,
Ihr Nam vergeht ſampt ihnn.
Ewig dein Nam wird bleiben,
Dein Richtſtuel iſt bereit.
Niemand wirds hintertreiben,
Wann du regierſt die Leut.

3  Du biſt der Schutz des Armen,
Ein Zuflucht in der Noth.
Leſt dich ſeins Leids erbarmen,
Drumb auff dich frommen GOtt
Hoffen all, die dich kennen,
Und ehrn den Namen dein.,
Wirſt dich ihrer nicht ſchemen,
Ihr Helffer ſtets zu ſeyn.

4  Zu Zion wohnt der HErre,
Da hat er ſeinen Herd,
Preiſet ihn weit und ferne,
Und rühmt ſein Namen werth.
Der Armen er gedencket,
Helt ſie in guter Hut,
Er weis wol was ſie krencket,
Fraget nach ihrem Blut.

5  Nur Gnad, Herr, ich begehre,
Sih an mein Elend groß,
Dein Hülff' mir doch gewehre,
Sonſt mich der Feind find bloß.
Du hilffſt aus Todesnöthen,
Drob wil ich fröhlich ſeyn,
Dein Lob und Preis vertreten
In chriſtlicher Gemein.

6  Die Heyden ſind gefangen,
In eigner Grub gefellt,
Ihr Fuß iſt blieben hangen
Im Netz das ſie geſtellt.
Recht muß ſich alles ſchicken,
Wenn Gott übt ſein Gericht,
Den Böſen zu verſtricken,
Durchs Wort in ſeim Geticht.

7  Ach daß zur hellen müſten
Gekeret werden fort,
All die nach ihren Lüſten
Verachten Gottes Wort.
Der Herr wird ja die Armen
Nicht laſen ewiglich,
Er wird ſich noch erbarmen
Ihrs Elends gnädiglich.

8  Steh auff, HErr Gott, beyzeite,
Laß gehen dein Gericht,
Damit die böſen Leute
Oberhand kriegen nicht.
Giebs ihnen zu verſtehen,
Daß sie nur Menſchen ſind,
Auch ihr Trutz muß vergehen
Für deiner Macht geſchwind.