Erhör mein Gbet, du treuer Gott

Here is my translation of the psalm paraphrase, “Erhör mein Gbet, du treuer Gott” (Cornelius Becker, d. 1604), based on Psalm LV, Exaudi Deus, with title “An instruction of David to sing before the stringed instruments,” and melody assignment “Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir.” On the psalm, Vierling writes (Biblia, 749),

It is a psalm of supplication, and although it might be spoken in the person of Christ against His betrayer Judas (in v. 12f.), I leave it nevertheless as a general prayer against the “Italian art,” which are wicked cats, who lick before and scratch after. Before men’s eyes they are faithful friends, cousins, brothers, sisters, are willing to risk life and limb for us, that their mouth may be smother than butter and oil, but behind them there is utter murder, sword, warfare, and all devastation, as he says here (v. 22). And that is what he laments in the twelfth verse, that they cannot join the church at the table, in the temple, in chambers, and on the streets, and are the best fellows. Therefore he curses them also, that the devil, death, and hell lead them away. For they give rise to great heartache and afflicted men. This curse, however, is a prophecy, that shall surely come upon them, because they accept no improvement of life, or as verse 19 says, “They shall do nothing else, nor do they fear God.”

 

GOD, hear my pray’r and hide Thee not
From this my supplication!
Hear how I mourn and am distraught
And stand in trepidation,
The wicked press upon me sore,
The foes afflict me to the core
And cast their lies upon me.

2 My heart within doth shrink and quail,
Death’s terrors all surround me,
Great fear and trembling me assail,
And horror nigh hath drowned me.
Great darkness looms on every side,
My heart’s distress is multiplied.
Where shall I go for comfort?

3 Oh, that I might be mounting high,
And fleeing all disaster!
Like as a dove I’d swiftly fly
Away to some calm pasture
I’d hasten my escape from pain
Of storm and tempest, and remain
In wilderness securely.

4 Destroy, O Lord, their tongues divide,
And let Thy wrath devour them,
Turn violence and strife aside
And from all places scour them,
Their mischief and their slander stay,
And cast deceit and guile away
Which in her streets is sounding.

5 For if my foe confounded me,
Or those who hate me vaunted,
I could have borne it readily,
And hidden corners haunted.
But it was thou, my kindred friend,
My dear acquaintance. Hours on end
We sought God’s house together.

6 I wait till death has seized the foes
And into hell has flung them,
For evil doth with them repose,
And mischief dwells among them.
Let it be so! On God I’ll call
And trust the One who can do all.
The Lord shall surely save me.
    
7 When night and day I cry aloud,
He hears my supplication,
Deliv’ring me from th’ evil crowd,
And granting me salvation.
Full many foe against me rise,
But God on me hath set His eyes;
He hears, and shall afflict them.

8 Whate’er they do, ’tis all in vain,
God’s fear they have forgotten;
In their transgressions they remain,
In pride their hearts are rotten.
To break the cov’nant they’ll not cease,
But with their hands would stifle peace,
And persecute the righteous.

9 Their mouth than butter is more smooth,
They speak from hearts beguiling,
Their lisping soundeth as the truth,
So smooth, it needs no oiling.
Their heart is full of murd’rous swords,
They injure others with their words,
Which wickedly they brandish.

10 Thy burden cast upon the Lord,
And all that doth offend thee;
He surely shall be thy reward
And nourish and amend thee;
He that his trust in God doth set,
The faithful Father shall not let
That man be moved forever.

11  The false and bloody horde and all
The wicked villains meetly
Thou, faithful God, shalt make to fall,
And cast them down completely;
Thy strength shall slay them in their ways,
They shall not live out half their days.
But God, my trust is in Thee!

Translation © 2024 Matthew Carver.

GERMAN

Erhör mein Gbet, du treuer Gott,
Wend dich nicht von meim Flehen
Ich klag ich heul merck auff mein Noth,
Zaghafft vor dir ich ſtehe,
Der Gottloß thut mir groſſen Drang,
Des Feindes Tück macht mir ſehr bang,
Beſchweret mich mit Lügen.

2  Mein Herz im Leib ſich ängſt und quelt,
In Todesfurcht ich ſchwebe,
ſchrecken und Zittern mich anfellt,
Grauen hat mich umbgeben,
Groß Finſternis bedecket mich,
Mein Hertzeleid das mehret ſich,
Wo ſol ich mich hinkehrenſ

3  Ach daß ich mich erheben künnt,
Dem Unglück zu entfliehen,
Wie ein Täublein wolt ich geſchwind
Hinfliehen, da ich bliebe,
Ich wolt eilen, daß ich entrinn,
Fürm Sturm und Wetterungeſtüm
Mich ſichern in der Wüſten.

4  HErr mach uneins ihr falſche Zung,
Las dein Zorn ſie verſchlingen,
Frevel, Gewalt und Leſterung
Regirt in allen Dingen,
Ohn Unterlaß in ihrer ſtadt,
Thut lügen, triegen grossen Schad,
Man hörts in allen Gaſſen.

5  Wenn doch mein Feind mich ſchänden thet,
Und mich mein Haſſer pochet,
Viel eh ich ſolchs verſchmertzet het,
Und mich für ihm verkrochen:
So thuſtus mein verwandter Freund,
Mein Gſell, die wir beyſammen ſeynd
So lang in Gottes Hauſe.

6  Der Tod kom plötzlich uber ſie,
Und ſtürtz ſie in die Hellen,
Es iſt doch nur Frevel und Müh
Bey den gottloſen Gſellen.
Ich aber will Gott ruffen an,
Und mein Vertrawen zu ihm han,
Der HErr wird mir wohl helffen.
    
7  Wenn ich heul und klag frü und ſpat,
Wird er mein Stimm erhören,
Mein Seel erlöſen in Genad,
Mir gwünſchte Ruh beſcheren.
Viel iſt der Feinde wieder mich,
Mein Troſt iſt, Gott bleibt ewiglich,
Der mir hilfft und ſie plaget.

8  Doch iſt bey Ihnen alls verlorn,
Gottsfurcht han ſie vergeſſen,
Sie bleiben nochmal wie zuvorn,
Halten ſich hoch vermeſſen,
Den Bund entheilign ſie allzeit,
Und legen Hand an friedſam Leut,
Verfolgen den Gerechten.

9  Gletter denn Butter iſt ihr Mund,
Reden aus falſcher Seele,
Ihr gute Wort zu aller Stund
Gelinder ſind denn Öle,
Ihr Hertz dabey iſt voller Mord,
Verletzen durch ihr falſche Wort
Wie durch mördliche Schwerter.

10  Dein Anliegen wirff allzumal
Getroſt auff Gott den HErren,
Er wird dich recht verſorgen wol,
Und allezeit ernehren.
Wer auff Gott ſetzt ſein Zuverſicht,
Den wird der trewe Vater nicht
Ewig in Unruh laſſen.

11  Die falſche blutgirige Rott
Und all gottloſe Buben
Wirſtu ſtürtzen, gerechter Gott,
Hinunter in die Gruben,
Plötzlich dein Macht ſie niderſtürzt,
Ihr Leben wird die Helfft verkürzt,
Auff dich mein Gott, ich trawe.