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To greet the beginning of the new year, 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, wrote a poem from his prison cell. He was a German pastor and theologian who had been imprisoned in Berlin at Flossenburg by the Nazi's for his resistance to Adolf Hitler. On 9. April 1945, just a few months after this poem was written, Pastor Bonhoeffer was hanged by the Nazi's in Berlin.
The Allies liberated Berlin in the spring of 1945 just a short time later.
The thoughts, writings, and life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer reach far beyond his prison cell to move us.
Von wunderbaren Mächten still geborgen, (altenate text: Von guten Mächten wunderbar geborgen,) erwarten wir getrost was kommen mag. Gott ist mit uns am Abend und am Morgen und ganz gewiß an jeden neuen Tag.
By gracious powers so wonderfully sheltered, and confidently waiting, come what may, we know that God is with us night and morning, and never fails to greet us each new day. * * * Yet is this heart by its old foe tormented, still evil days bring burdens hard to bear; O give our frightened souls the sure salvation for which, O Lord, you taught us to prepare. * * * And when this cup you give is filled to brimming with bitter sorrow, hard to understand, we take it thankfully and without trembling, out of so good and so beloved a hand. * * * Yet when again in this same world you give us the joy we had, the brightness of your sun, we shall remember all the days we lived through, and our whole life shall then be yours alone.
Refer to Matthew 13, Mark 4, and Revelation 22.
Come, ye thankful people, come Raise the song of harvest home All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin; God, our Maker, doth provide For our wants to be supplied; Come to God's own temple, come, Raise the song of harvest home. * * * All the world is God's own field, Fruit unto his praise to yield; Wheat and tares together sown, Unto joy or sorrow grown; First the blade, and then the ear, Then the full corn shall appear; Lord of harvest, grant that we Wholesome grain and pure may be. * * * For the Lord our God shall come, And shall take his harvest home; From his field shall in that day All offenses purge away, Give his angels charge at last In the fire the tares to cast, But the fruitful ears to store In his garner evermore. :* * * Even so, Lord, quickly come, Bring thy final harvest home; Gather thou thy people in, Free from sorrow, free from sin, There, forever purified, In thy presence to abide; Come, with all thine angels come, Raise the glorious harvest home.
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