have noticed. English poets have declined to attempt the translation of the lyrics of Speratus, no doubt for the reason for which they avoid Spengler. Of one of Speratus' hymns, however, we must hazard a version. It is that entitled "Es ist das Heil uns kommen her," and awoke at the time of its publication the wildest enthusiasm on the part of the people. It was chanted in the streets, shouted at the battles, and sung at the churches. A parody of it published by the Roman Catholics only added to its celebrity, and from the very attacks which its rude energy and doctrinal sharpness provoked, it became an element in the reformation almost as completely as Luther's "Ein feste Burg." If we are disposed to carp at the homely simplicity of the hymn we now give, it would be well for us to look upon our own present popular union meeting hymns, for example, "What's the news," "Joyfully, joyfully," and then, when we see how in each period rhythm and poetic elegance give way to lyrical fire and to tune, inquire whether after all the subordination of melody to force may not be essential to the awakening of the great popular heart. But we pass to give a verse or two of this famous hymn: It is salvation come to us, Free grace and love transcendent, Our Saviour and Redeemer. The following ten verses go on to set forth with an almost defiant energy the doctrine of the worthlessness of human efforts, and of the necessity and joy of justification by faith. One of these.verses (the 9th) we will attempt: One other of Luther's poetical co-laborers we must notice before we pass this the heroic era of German Hymnology. MARTIN SCHALLING was born in 1532 at Strasburg, and led a long and laborious ministerial life, embracing fifty-four years of active service at Regensburg, Vilseck, Amberg, and Nuremberg, at which last place he died in 1608. The hymn we now give, "Herzlich lieb," etc., was long afterwards declared by Gellert, himself the first of the later German religious poets, to be worth whole volumes of modern hymns. In Schalling the reader will observe the gradual toning away from the heroic to the pietistic phase, which was to mark the succeeding period. We place together Miss Winkworth's translation, and one by ourselves, which, though not equally spirited, is more literal: Lord, all my heart is fixed on Thee, With grace and love divine. The whole wide world delights me not, If only Thou art mine: And though my heart be like to break, My God and Lord! My God and Lord! Ah Lord, let Thy dear angels come To Paradise for aye; Oh! true the love I bear to Thee, With thy free grace and blessing, If not my Lord possessing; My God and Lord! O Father! let thine angel blest, In Abraham's bosom carry; As long as thou shalt tarry; That these mine eyes with joy may see, And wake with all rejoicing eyes, O Son of God, Thy glorious face, Receive my prayer, receive my prayer! Thy form, O Son of God, to see, Lord Jesus Christ! oh! hear my prayer, (Translation now submitted.) Such are specimens of the heroic period of German poetry. Next comes the pietist, not however, without a transition era. At the head of this last stands Paul Gerhardt. This great lyrical writer (known to most of our readers by the magnificent hymn translated by Dr. Alexander in a version beginning, "O sacred head now wounded") combined the elements of martial fire with those of penitential sweetness. His genius, like an organ of full tone and compass, sounded with equal power sometimes the trumpet-call arousing the heart to battle, sometimes those softer and more pathetic notes which calm sorrow and sweeten meditation. On Gerhardt volumes have been written. For us it will be enough to say, that he was born in 1606, and died in 1676 as arch-deacon in Lausanne. He fought himself under Gustavus Adolphus; he had no doubt as to the duty of every other true German doing the same. "Laborare est orare" was the motto of the great Saxon reformer; "Militare est orare" was its paraphrase by his poetic ut none the less heroic successor. Of Gerhardt's martial hymns, the following is given by Miss Winkworth : If God be on my side, Then let who will oppose, For oft, ere now, to Him I cried, If Jesus be my friend, If God doth love me well, What matters all my foes intend, Though strong they be and fell? The world may fail and flee, Thou standest fast forever, Nor fire, nor sword, nor plague from Thee My trusting soul shall sever. No hunger and no thirst, No poverty or pain, Let mighty princes do their worst, My heart for gladness springs, Sees naught but sunshine glad. The sun that glads mine eyes Is Christ the Lord I love, 2 Lyra Germanica. Still more trumpet-like is the following: Give strong and cheerful hearts to stand Undaunted in the wars, That Satan's fierce and mighty band Is waging with Thy cause. Help us to fight as warriors brave, That we may conquer in the field, And yet while Gerhardt could thus move an army to battle, there were cadences in his melodies so sweet, so simple, and so tender, as even, to use the words of one of his German critics, to melt the heart of a beggar child. Of this we merely take as an illustration, that exquisite evening hymn, “ Nun ruhen alle Wälder," thus translated by the author of "Hymns of the Land of Luther:" Quietly rest the woods and dales, And holy vigils with Him keep. Sun, where hidest thou thy light? To cheer my pilgrimage below. Now that day has passed away, To leave this earth and upward fly. Now, this body seeks for rest, Christ shall give me soon to wear White robes of glorious majesty. Head and feet and hands, once more And night with gladness see. O my heart! thou, too, shalt know Rest from all thy toil below, And from earth's turmoil soon be free. Weary limbs, now rest ye here, While my eyes I gently close, Who shall my guardian be? O my friends, from you this day No danger near have come; Now, my God, these dear ones keep, Give to my beloved sleep, And angels send to guard them home. Of Gerhardt's devotional hymns, the most spirited and at the same time the most touching, is that beginning, "O Haupt voll Blut," etc. Two verses only of the translation by Dr. J. W. Alexander we have space to give: O sacred head! now wounded, With grief and shame bowed down, Now scornfully surrounded With thorns, Thine only crown; O sacred head! what glory, But though despised and gory, |