Gleich wie ein Hirsch eilt mit Begier

Here is my translation of the psalm paraphrase, “Gleich wie ein Hirsch eilt mit Begier” (Cornelius Becker, d. 1604), based on Psalm XLII, Quemadmodum desiderat cervus, with melody assignment “Aus tiefer Noth schrei ich zu dir.” Stanzas 4 and 8 are nearly identical as, reflecting the source text. v. 5 & 11. Vierling writes on the psalm itself (Biblia, 738),

It is a psalm of supplication in which he complains of despondency of heart, as though God is angry with him and afflicts him, and must in addition be mocked by the ungodly, saying, Where now is thy God? (v. 4). For the ungodly cannot help, when they see that the godly are suffering misfortune, but they must whistle and laugh and ridicule. Ah, how truly this happens to him (they say), yet it should be so for the heretics, and they think nothing else than that whoever is afflicted, it is a sure sign of God’s wrath. But when they are afflicted, then it must be called suffering for God’s sake and becoming holy martyrs. The perverted, blind, and poisonous leaders do not wish to know that God chastens His own, yet also comforts them again, and does not forsake them. Yet he desires to come to God’s house and to have comfort from the face of God (v. 3), that is, he is eager to hear God’s Word, which comforts him. For God’s house means the place where God’s Word is, and His face is His presence, where He makes Himself known, and reveals His grace through His Word.

 

LIKE as a hart seeks hastily,
The brooks with waters bursting,
So pants my soul, O God, for Thee;
For God my soul is thirsting.
The living God is on my mind,
Ah, when I shall occasion find
To come and stand before Him?

2 My tears have been my daily food,
My foes great grief have brought me;
When they exclaim, Where is thy God?
He surely hath forgot thee!—
This mockery my heart doth sting
Therefore my pain to God I bring,
And tell Him of my sorrows.

3 How gladly to God’s house I would
Go with the congregation,
And glorify Thee, highest Good,
With songs of jubilation.
To thank Thee in the multitude
And praise Thy name, for Thou art good,—
That is my heart’s desiring!

4 Why art thou cast down, O my soul,
What can so restless make thee?
Hope thou in God and His control;
He never will forsake thee.
He is my faithful confidence,
And helps me with His countenance.
Therefore I shall yet praise Him.
    
5 Ah, God, my soul is troubled sore,
And mourneth late and early!
But this my comfort doth restore:
Thou keep’st Thy promise surely.
Mount Zion and the Hermonite,
Where Thy Word’s voice is heard aright,
Thou to Thy people gavest.

6 The floods of grief call noisily
One woe the other follows,
Like as the wild, tumultuous sea,
With smiting waves and billows.
The Lord commands His grace each day,
Wherefore to Him I sing and pray,
God of my life unfailing!

7 I say, Thou art my Rock, my Stay,
Why hast Thou me forgotten?
Why go I mourning night and day
For foes whose hands I’m caught in?
It through my bones and marrows goes,
That I’m reproached by sinful foes,
Who would God’s grace deny me.

8 Why art thou cast down, O my soul,
What can so restless make thee?
Hope thou in God and His control,
He never will forsake thee.
He is my faithful confidence,
The health of my own countenance.
Therefore I shall yet praise Him.

Translation © 2024 Matthew Carver.

GERMAN

Gleichwie ein Hirſch eilt mit Begier,
Zum Waſſer, ſich zu friſchen,
So ſchreyt mein Seele, Gott zu dir,
Nach Gott mein Seele dürſtet,
Des Lebens Gott liegt mir im Sinn,
Ach, wenn werd ich kommen dahin,
Daß ich ſein Antlitz ſchaue.

2  Mein täglich Speiſe Thränen ſeynd,
Mein Leid ich in mich freſſe,
Wenn ich mus hören von mein Feind,
Gott hab mein gar vergeſſen.
Von ſolchem Spott bricht mir mein Hertz,
Drumb ichs für GOtt ausſchütt mit Schmertz,
Ihm meine Noth zu klagen.

3  Wie gerne wolt ich mit hingehn,
Zum Hauſe Gottes wallen,
Daß ich möcht bey dem Hauffen ſtehn,
Der dich, HErr, preiſt mit Schalle,
Zu dancken in der groſſen Gmein
Mit Frohlocken dem Namen dein,
Wär meines Hertzens Freude.

4  Was btrübſtu dich doch meine Seel,
Haſt Unruh früh und ſpate?
Harr nur auff Gott, allm Ungefell
Weis er gar wohl zu rathen,
Ich bins gewiß, GOtt leſt mich nicht,
Hilfft mir mit ſeinem Angeſicht,
Des werd ich ihm noch dancken.
    
5  Ach GOtt mein Seel iſt ſehr betrübt,
Führt manche ſehnlich Klage,
Dargegen diß den Troſt mir giebt,
Du heltſt gwiß dein Zuſage,
Den Berg Zion und Hermonim,
Da man hört deines Wortes Stimm,
Haſtu dein Volck gegeben.

6  Der Trübſal Flut rauſchen daher,
Ein Leid das ander reget,
Gleichwie auff ungeſtümem Meer
Ein Well die ander ſchleget.
Täglich verſpricht GOtt ſeine Gnad,
Dafür lob ich früh und ſpat,
Ruff an den Gott meins Lebens.

7  Ich ſag: Du biſt mein Fels, mein Hort,
Warumb haſt mein vergeſſen?
Ich muß mich grämen fort und fort,
Wenn meine Feind mich preſſen,
Es gehet mir durch Marck und Bein,
Daß ich der Feinde Spott muß ſeyn,
Die mir Gotts Gnad abſagen.

8  Was btrübſtu dich doch, meine Seel,
Haſt Unruh früh und ſpate?
Harr nur auff Gott, allm Ungefell
Weis er gar wohl zu rathen,
Ich bins gewis, Gott leßt mich nicht,
Thut Hülffe meinem Angeſicht,
Des werd ich ihm noch dancken.