Translations. - A Song Of The Holy Christian Church, From The Twelfth Chapter Of The Apocalypse. (Luther's Song-Book.)

Her, the worthy maid, my heart doth hold, And I shall not forget her. Praise, honour, virtue of her are told; Than all I love her better. I seek her good, And if I should Right evil fare, I do not care: With that she’ll make me merry! With love and truth that never tire Glad she will make me very, And do all my desire. She wears a crown of pure gold, where Twelve stars their rays are twining; Her raiment like the sun is fair, And bright from far is shining. Her feet the moon Are set upon; She is the bride By Jesus’ side! She hath sorrow, must be mother To her fair child, the noble Son, Of all men lord and brother, Her king, her crowned one. That makes the old dragon ramp and roar; The child he tries to swallow; His rage is rage and nothing more! No hurt that rage will follow. The child up high Into the sky Away is heft, And he is left On earth, all mad with murder. The mother all alone is she, But God will watch and ward her, And her true Father be.