DAME MUSIC.

Of all the joys earth possesses,
None the gladness fine surpasses
Which I give you with my singing,
And with much harmonious ringing.

An evil spirit cannot dwell
Where companions are singing well;
Here strife, wrath, envy, hate, are not;
Every heartache must leave the spot:
Greed, care, all things that hard oppress
Troop off with great unwillingness.

Also each man is free to this—
For such a joy no trespass is,
God himself pleasing better far
Than all the joys on earth that are;
It breaks the toils by Satan spun,
And many a murder keeps undone.

Of this, King David is the proof,
Who often Saul did hold aloof,
All with his harping sweet and well,
That he not into murder fell.

For God’s own truth, in word and will
It makes the heart ready and still;
That knew Elisha well, I wot,
When he the Spirit by harping got.

The best time of the year is mine,
When all the little birds sing fine,
Fill heaven and earth full of their strain:
Much good singing is going then;
The nightingale the lead she takes,
And everything right merry makes
With her gladsome lovely song,
For which great thanks to her belong.

But more to our dear Lord God, much,
Who has created the bird such,
A songstress of the true right sort,
A mistress of the music-art:
She sings and springs, both nights and days,
To him, not weary of his praise.
Him lauding come my songs as well,
My everlasting thanks to tell.

LUTHER’S SONG-BOOK.

I. ADVENT

II. CHRISTMAS

III. EPIPHANY

IV. EASTER

V. PENTECOST

VI. THE TRINITY

VII. THE CHURCH AND WORD OF GOD

VIII. GRACE

IX. THE COMMANDMENTS

X. THE CREED

XI. PRAYER

XII. BAPTISM

XIII. REPENTANCE

XIV. THE LORD’S SUPPER

XV. DEATH

XVI. THE PRAISE OF GOD

OF LIFE AT COURT

I. ADVENT.

Come, saviour of nations wild,
Of the maiden owned the child
That may wonder all the earth
God should grant it such a birth.

Not of man’s flesh or man’s blood
Only of the Spirit of God
Is God’s Word a man become,
And blooms the fruit of woman’s womb.

Maiden, she was found with child,
Nor was chastity defiled;
Many a virtue from her shone:
God was there upon his throne.

From that chamber of content,
Royal palace pure, he went;
God by kind, in human grace
Forth he comes to run his race.

From the Father came his road,
And returns again to God;
Unto hell it did go down,
Up then to the Father’s throne.

Thou, the Father’s form express,
Get thee victory in the flesh,
That thy godlike power in us
Make sick flesh victorious.

Shines thy manger bright and fair;
Sets the night a new star there:
Darkness thence must keep away;
Faith dwells ever in the day.

Honour unto God be done;
Honour to his only son;
Honour to the Holy Ghost,
Now, and ever, ending not. Amen.

II. CHRISTMAS.

I.

Jesus we now must laud and sing,
The maiden Mary’s son and king,
Far as the blessed sun doth shine,
And reaches to earth’s utmost line.[1]

[Footnote 1: Luther’s own construction.]

The blessed maker of all we view
On him a servant’s body drew,
The flesh to save at flesh’s cost,
Else his creation had been lost.

From heaven high the Godlike grace
In the chaste mother found a place;
A secret pledge a maiden bore—
A thing to earth unknown before.

The tender heart, house modest, low,
Straightway a temple of God did grow:
Whom never man hath touched or known
By God’s word she with child is grown.

The noble mother hath brought forth
Whom Gabriel promised to the earth;
Him John did greet in joyous way
While in his mother’s womb he lay.

Right poorly lies in hay the boy;
Th’ hard manger him did not annoy;
A little milk made him content
Away who no bird hungry sent.

Therefore the heavenly choir is loud;
The angels sing their praise to God,
And tell poor men their flocks who keep
He’s come who made and keeps their sheep.

Praise, honour, thanks, to thee be said,
Christ Jesus, born of holy maid!
With God the Father and Holy Ghost,
Now and for ever, ending not. Amen!

II.

A Song of Praise for the Birth of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Praised be thou, O Jesus Christ,
That a man on earth thou liest!
Born of a maiden—it is true—
In this exults the heavenly crew.
Kyrioleis.[2]
[Footnote 2: (Greek) kurie elxaeson: Lord, have mercy.]

The Father’s only son begot
In the manger has his cot,
In our poor dying flesh and blood
Doth mask itself the eternal Good.
Kyrioleis.

Whom all the world could not enwrap
Lieth he in Mary’s lap;
A little child he now is grown
Who everything upholds alone.
Kyrioleis.

In him the eternal light breaks through,
Gives the world a glory new;
A great light shines amid the night,
And makes us children of the light.
Kyrioleis.

The Father’s son, so God his name,
A guest into this world he came;
And leads us from the vale of tears:
He in his palace make us heirs.
Kyrioleis.

Poor to the earth he cometh thus,
Pity so to take on us;
And makes us rich in heaven above,
And like the angels of his love.
Kyrioleis.

All this for us hath Jesus done,
And his great love to us hath shown:
Let Christendom rejoice therefore,
And give him thanks for evermore!
Kyrioleis.

III

A SONG OF THE LITTLE CHILD JESUS, FOR CHILDREN AT CHRISTMAS.
TAKEN OUT OF THE SECOND CHAPTER OF THE GOSPEL OF ST. LUKE.

From heaven high I come to you,
I bring a story good and new:
Of goodly news so much I bring,
Of it I must both speak and sing.

To you a child is come this morn,
A child of chosen maiden born,
A little babe so sweet and mild
Your joy and bliss shall be that child.

‘Tis the Lord Christ, our very God.
He will you ease of all your load;
He’ll be himself your Saviour sure
And from all sinning make you pure.

He brings you all the news so glad
Which God the Father ready had—
That you shall in his heavenly house
Live now and evermore with us.

Take heed then to the token sure—
The crib, the swaddling clothes so poor:
The infant you shall find laid there
Who all the world doth hold and bear.

Hence let us all be gladsome then,
And with the shepherd-folk go in
To see what God to us hath given
With his dear honoured Son from heaven.

Take note, my heart; see there! look low:
What lies then in the manger so?
Whose is the lovely little child?
It is the darling Jesus-child.

Hail, noble guest in humble guise,
Poor sinners who didst not despise,
And com’st to me in misery!
My thoughts must all be thanks to thee!

Ah Lord! the maker of us all!
How hast thou grown so poor and small
That there thou liest on withered grass,
The supper of the ox and ass!

Were the world wider many fold,
And decked with gems and cloth of gold,
‘T were far too mean and narrow all
To be for thee a cradle small!

The silk and velvet that are thine
Are rough hay, linen not too fine;
Thereon thou, king so rich and great,
Liest as if in heavenly state.

And this hath therefore pleased thee,
To make this truth right plain to me,
That all the world’s power, honour, wealth
Are nothing to thy heart or health.

Ah, little Christ! my heart’s poor shed
Would make thee a soft, little bed:
Rest there as in a lowly shrine,
And make that heart for ever thine,

That so I always gladsome be,
Ready to dance, and sing to thee
The