Hear me, though Thou still dost languish,
Gentle Shepherd, in Thine anguish;
From whose lips in fullest measure
I have gathered sweetest treasure,
Far surpassing this world's best.
Cast me not away rejected,
Sinful, sorrowful, dejected;
Now Thy head to death declining,
In my willing arms reclining,
On my heart find peaceful rest.
In Thine hour of holy sadness
Could I share with Thee, what gladness
Should Thy cross to me be showing.
Gladness past all thought or knowing,
Bowed beneath Thy cross to die!
Blessed Jesus, thanks I render
That in bitter death, so tender,
Thou dost hear Thy suppliant calling;
Save me, Lord, and keep from falling
From Thee, when mine hour is nigh.
Dum me mori est necesse,
Noli mihi tunc deesse;
In tremenda mortis hora
Veni, Iesu, absque mora,
Tuere me et libera.
Quum me iubes emigrare,
Iesu care, tunc appare;
O amator amplectende,
Temet ipsum tunc ostende
In cruce salutifera.
When to death my life is tending,
Fail not then, Thy presence lending,
In that fearful hour, to hear me,
Blessed Jesus, haste Thee near me;
On me look, and set me free.
When, at Thy command, departing,
On my journey I am starting,
Jesus, show Thyself above me,
Loved One, then, embrace and love me,
And Thy cross my life shall be.
CONTEMPTIO VANITATIS MUNDI
O miranda vanitas!
O divitiarum
Amor lamentabilis!
O virus amarum
Cur tot viros inficis,
Faciendo carum,
Quod pertransit citius
Quam flamma stupparum.
Homo miser, cogita:
Mors omnes compescit,
Quis est ab initio,
Qui morti non cessit?
Quando moriturus est,
Omnis homo nescit,
Hic, qui vivit hodie,
Cras forte putrescit.
Dum de morte cogito,
Contristor et ploro,
Verum est, quod moriar
Et tempus ignoro.
Ultimum, quod nescio,
Qui iungar choro;
Et cum sanctis merear
Iungi, Deum oro!
CONTEMPT FOR THE VANITY OF THE WORLD
O vanity most wonderful!
O shameful love of treasure!
O poison most deplorable!
Embittering all pleasure!
Why dost infect so many men
By causing to be cherished
That which more swiftly flees away
Than tow whose flame hath perished!
O wretched man, consider well:
All men by death are driven;
Who is there from the earliest day
Who not to death is given?
Nor knoweth any man the hour
When death shall come with sorrow.
Who breathes the breath of life to-day
Decays perchance to-morrow.
The while I dwell on thoughts of death
I mourn with tears and sighing.
'Tis true that I know not the time
Appointed for my dying.
Nor yet, one final thing unknown,
What chorus I'll be swelling;
Pray God among His saints I may
Deserve to find my dwelling.
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