With her cruse of alabaster,
Filled with ointment rare and sweet,
Came the woman to the Master,
Knelt contritely at His feet,
Feeling with unfeigned contrition
How unfit was her condition
To approach the Holy One.
Like this woman, I contritely
Often must approach the Lord,
Knowing that I cannot rightly
Ask a place beside His board.
Sinful and devoid of merit,
I can only cry in spirit:
Lord, be merciful to me.
Lord of Grace and Mercy, harken
To my plea for grace and light.
Threatening clouds and tempests darken
Now my soul with gloomy night.
Let, despite my guilt and error,
My repenting tears still mirror
Thy forgiving smile, O Lord.
|First Line:||With her cruse of alabaster|
|Author:||Nikolai Frederick Severin Grundtvig, 1783-1872|
|Translator:||J. C. Aaberg (1945)|