Philip Schaff · 15 of 181

Zwingli during the Pestilence

§ 13. Zwingli during the Pestilence.

In the summer of 1519 Zwingli went to the famous bath of Pfäffers at Ragatz to gather strength for his prospectively onerous duties at Zurich, in view of the danger of the approach of the plague from Basle. As soon as he learned, in August, that the plague had broken out in Zurich, he hastened back without stopping to visit his relations on the way. For several weeks he devoted himself, like a faithful shepherd, day after day, to the care of the sick, until he fell sick himself at the end of September. His life was in great danger, as he had worn himself out. The papal legate sent his own physician to his aid. The pestilence destroyed twenty-five hundred lives; that is, more than one-third of the population of Zurich. Zwingli recovered, but felt the effects on his brain and memory, and a lassitude in all limbs till the end of the year. His friends at home and abroad, including Faber, Pirkheimer, and Dürer at Nürnberg, congratulated him on his recovery.

The experience during this season of public distress and private affliction must have exerted a good influence upon his spiritual life. We may gather this from the three poems, which he composed and set to music soon afterwards, on his sickness and recovery. They consist each of twenty-six rhymed iambic verses, and betray great skill in versification. They breathe a spirit of pious resignation to the will of God, and give us an insight into his religious life at that time. He wrote another poem in 1529, and versified the Sixty-ninth Psalm.

Zwingli’s Poems during the Pestilence, with a Free Condensed Translation.

I. Im Anfang der Krankheit.

Hilf, Herr Gott, hilf In dieser Noth; Ich mein’, der Tod Syg an der Thür. Stand, Christe, für; Denn du ihn überwunden hast! Zu dir ich gilf: Ist es din Will, Zuch us den Pfyl, Din Hafbin ich, Mach ganz ald brich. Dann nimmst du hin Den Geiste min

Der mich verwundt, Nit lass ein Stund Mich haben weder Rüw noch Rast! Willt du dann glych Todt haben mich Inmitts der Tagen min, So soll es willig syn. Thu, wie Du willt, Mich nüt befilt. Von dieser Erd, Thust du’s, dass er nit böser werd, Ald andern nit Befleck ihr Leben fromm und Sitt.

II. Mitten in der Krankheit.

Tröst, Herr Gott, tröst! Die Krankheit wachst, Weh und Angst fasst Min Seel und Lyb. Darum dich schybr Gen mir, einiger Trost, mit Gnad! Die gwüss erlöst Bin jeden, der Sin herzlich B’ger Und Hoffnung setzt In dich, verschätzt. Darzu diss Zyt all Nutz und Schad. Nun ist es um;

Min Zung ist stumm, Mag sprechen nit ein Wort; Min Sinn’ sind all verdorrt, Darum ist Zyt,Dass Du min Stryt Führist fürhin; So ich nit bin So stark, dass ich Mög tapferlich Thun Widerstand Des Tüfels Facht und frefner Hand. Doch wird min Gmüth Stät bliben dir, wie er auch wüth.

III. Zur Genesung.

G’sund, Herr Gott, g’sund! Ich mein’, ich kehr Schon wiedrum her. Ja, wenn dich dunkt, Der Sünden Funk’ Werd nit mehr bherrschen mich uf Erd, So muss min Mund Din Lob und Lehr Ussprechen mehr Denn vormals je, Wie es auch geh’ Einfältiglich ohn’ alle G’fährd. Wiewohl ich muss

Des Todes buss Erliden zwar einmal Villicht mit gröss’rer Qual, Denn jezund wär’ Geschehen, Herr! So ich sunst bin Nach gfahren hin, So will ich doch Den Trutz und Poch In dieser Welt Tragen fröhlich um Widergelt, Mit Hülfe din, Ohn’ den nüt mag vollkommen syn.

I. In the Beginning of his Sickness.

Help me, O Lord, My strength and rock; Lo, at the door I hear death’s knock.

Uplift thine arm, Once pierced for me, That conquered death, And set me free. Yet, if thy voice, In life’s mid-day Recalls my soul, Then I obey. In faith and hope, Earth I resign, Secure of heaven, For I am Thine.

II. In the Midst of his Sickness.

My pains increase; Haste to console; For fear and woe Seize body and soul.

Lo! Satan strains To snatch his prey; I feel his grasp; Must I give way?

Death is at hand, My senses fail, My tongue is dumb; Now, Christ, prevail.

He harms me not, I fear no loss, For here lie Beneath Thy cross.

III. On Recovering from his Sickness.

My God! my Lord! Healed by Thy hand, Upon the earth Once more I stand.

Though now delayed, My hour will come, Involved, perchance, In deeper gloom.

Let sin no more Rule over me; My mouth shall sing Alone of Thee.

But, let it come; With joy I’ll rise, And bear my yoke Straight to the skies.