Augustine, Tersteegen, Wesley

Having been away on retreat, while there, perusing a hymnal, I came upon a splendid hymn, very Augustinian I thought, given the lines "My heart is pained, nor can it be / At rest, till it finds rest in Thee" (cf. his Confessions, 1.1.1.), written by the Pietist Gerhard Tersteegen, translated by Wesley, and set to a good German tune harmonized by Bach – how ecumenical! how evangelical! – and must therefore share this gem, which to me seems redolent of the heart's fearful fumbling quest for God while still amidst this world's allurements:

Thou hidden Love of God, whose height,

Whose depth unfathomed no one knows,

I see from far Thy beauteous light,

And inly sigh for Thy repose;

My heart is pained, nor can it be

At rest, till it finds rest in Thee.

Thy secret voice invites me still

The sweetness of Thy yoke to prove;

And fain I would; but though my will

Seems fixed, yet wide my passions rove;

Yet hindrances strew all the way;

I aim at Thee, yet from Thee stray.

’Tis mercy all that Thou has brought

My mind to seek its peace in Thee;

Yet while I seek, but find Thee not,

No peace my wandering soul shall see.

O when shall all my wanderings end,

And all my steps to Theeward tend?

Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with Thee my heart to share?

Ah, tear it thence and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there;

Then shall my heart from earth be free,

When it hath found repose in Thee.

O hide this self from me, that I

No more, but Christ in me, may live!

My vile affections crucify,

Nor let one darling lust survive

In all things nothing may I see,

Nothing desire or seek, but Thee!

O Love, Thy sovereign aid impart

To save me from low thoughted care;

Chase this self will from all my heart,

From all its hidden mazes there;

Make me Thy duteous child that I

Ceaseless may Abba, Father cry.

Ah no! ne’er will I backward turn:

Thine wholly, Thine alone I am!

Thrice happy he who views with scorn

Earth’s toys, for Thee his constant flame;

O help that I may never move

From the blest footsteps of Thy love!

Each moment draw from earth away

My heart that lowly waits Thy call;

Speak to my inmost soul and say,

I am thy love, thy God, thy all!

To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice,

To taste Thy love, be all my choice.

A suitable song with which to finish the course of Lent, and prepare for the great days of Holy Week, now opened with Palm Sunday Mass this morning.