A Thanksgiving.
8,6,8,6

Brennende Liebe, du heilige Flamme

[111]Anon.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1869

Thou burning Love, Thou holy Flame,

O Thou my God and Lord,

Thou hast preserved me by Thy Name,

When terrors were abroad;

Thou helpest us in worst distress,

If we but cling to Thee,

Wherefore, my God, no bitterness

Shall ever make me flee.

Ah! never can I praise enough

The mercy Thou hast shown!

When days were dark and storms were rough

Thou mad'st Thy kindness known,

Thy miracles of goodness then

Thou sufferedst me to see;

O Bread of Life! my heart again

Cries, let me cling to Thee!

Thee I desire, to Thee I cleave,

To Thee will I be true;

As opes the floweret to receive

The May-time's quickening dew,

So in the time of grief and woe

Opens my heart to Thee,

And feels anew a living glow,

For Thou consolest me.

Ah! though I lived a thousand years,

And spake with thousand tongues,

I could not tell with words nor tears

What praise to Thee belongs.

Ah no, it never can be told,

Not even, my God, to Thee,

How rich the gifts, how manifold,

That Thou hast showered on me!

This only, O my God, I pray,

Thy Spirit may abide

In me, and keep me in Thy way,

My Comfort and my Guide;

Let nothing evil reign within,

Thine angels send to me,

Let me escape all snares of sin,

And lead me home to Thee.

consolation
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