1.

Poor and despised, a vessel so weak—
This is the bride Christ the Lord chose to seek.
Lonely, disdained, she at times is cast down.
Her heavenly calling brings suff’rings, she’s found.
He is so righteous, so pure, and so holy.
She is so wretched, unworthy, and lowly.

2.

Pilgrim and stranger—on earth she sojourns.
Midst feasts of gladness, her need in her burns.
Can she find any in whom to confide
Who understands fully her yearnings inside,
Which she doth bear in her heart’s deep recesses—
Sighings and prayers which no utt’rance expresses?

3.

“Look not on me; I’m so black from the sun,
Burned by its rays while my work I have done—
Each spot and blemish revealed in its light.
How long, O my God, ere I’m given my right?
I would shine forth with Thy virtues adorning;
Must I remain as a woman in mourning?”

4.

“You are so lovely, My fair one, My bride.
Soon with the Father and Me you’ll abide.
Though tribulation at times may seem sore,
’Tis naught when compared unto joy evermore.
Yield to the chast’ning, reproach gladly bearing;
Soon on My throne you’ll My glory be sharing.”

Written by Ragnhild Backe (published in 1932)Composed by Even SkogsrudText and melody © Stiftelsen Skjulte Skatters ForlagNorway ⋅ F