“What dost thou bring me, O my Queen?

Love maketh thy steps to fly.”

“Lord, to Thee my jewel I bring,

Greater than mountains high;

Broader than all the earth’s broad lands,

Heavier than the ocean sands,

And higher it is than the sky:

Deeper it is than the depths of the sea,

And fairer than the sun,

Unreckoned, as if the stars could be

All gathered into one.”

“O thou, My Godhead’s image fair,

Thou Eve, from Adam framed,

My flesh, My bone, My life to share,

My Spirit’s diadem to wear,

How is thy jewel named?”

“Lord, it is called my heart’s desire,

From the world’s enchantments won;

I have borne it afar through flood and fire,

And will yield it up to none;

But the burden I can bear no more—

Where shall I lay it up in store?”

“There is no treasure-house but this,

My heart divine, My Manhood’s breast;

There shall My Spirit’s sacred kiss

Fill thee with rest.”

O Jesus Lord, most fair, most passing sweet,

In darkest hours revealed in love to me,

In those dark hours I fall before Thy Feet,

I sing to Thee.

I join the song of love, and I adore

With those who worship Thee for evermore.

Thou art the Sun of every eye,

The Gladness everywhere,

The Voice that speaks eternally,

The Strength to do and bear,

The sacred Lore of wisdom’s store,

The Life of life to all,

The Order mystic, marvellous

In all things great and small.

Thou art light to Mine eyes, and a harp to Mine ears,

And the voice of My words, and My wisdom’s crown,

The love that cheers Mine eternal years,

My music, and My renown.

Wherever thy pilgrim steps may be,

Thou longest, belovèd, thou longest for Me.

Thy love hast Thou told from the days of old,

Thou hast written my name in Thy Book divine;

Engraved on Thy Hands and Thy feet it stands,

And on Thy side as a sign.

O glorious Man in the garden of God,

Thy sacred Manhood is mine.

I kneel on the golden floor of heaven

With my box of ointment sweet,

Grant unto me, Thy much forgiven,

To kiss and anoint Thy feet.

Where wilt thou find that ointment rare,

O My belovèd one?

Thou brakest my heart and didst find it there,

Rest sweetly there alone.

There is no embalming so sweet to Me,

As to dwell, My well-beloved, in thee.

Lord, take me home to Thy palace fair,

So will I ever anoint Thee there.

“I will. But My plighted troth saith, ‘Wait;’

And My love saith, ‘Work to-day;’

My meekness saith, ‘Be of low estate;’

And My longing, ‘Watch and pray;’

My shame and sorrow say, ‘Bear My cross;’

My song saith, ‘Win the crown;’

My guerdon saith, ‘All else is loss;’

My patience saith, ‘Be still,’

Till thou shalt lay the burden down,

Then, when I will.

Then, belovèd, the crown and palm,

And then the music and the psalm;

And the cup of joy My Hand shall fill

Till it overflow;

And with singing I strike the harp of gold

I have tuned below,

The harp I tune in desolate years

Of sorrow and tears,

Till a music sweet the chords repeat,

Which all the heavens shall fill;

For the holy courts of God made meet,

Then, when I will.”

Thou hast shone within this soul of mine,

As the sun on a shrine of gold;

When I rest my heart, O Lord, on Thine,

My bliss is manifold.

My soul is the gem on Thy diadem,

And my marriage robe Thou art;

If aught could sever my heart from Thine,

The sorrow beyond all sorrows were mine,

Alone and apart.

Could I not find Thy love below,

Then would my soul as a pilgrim go

To Thy holy land above;

There would I love Thee as I were fain,

With everlasting love.

Now have I sung my tuneless song,

But I hearken, Lord, for Thine;

Then shall a music, sweet and strong,

Pass into mine.

“I am the Light, and the lamp thou art;

The River, and thou the thirsty land;

To thee thy sighs have drawn My heart,

And ever beneath Thee is My hand.

And when thou weepest, it needs must be

Within Mine arms that encompass thee;

Thy heart from Mine can none divide,

For one are, the Bridegroom and the Bride:

It is sweet, belovèd, for Me and thee,

To wait for the day that is to be.”

O Lord, with hunger and thirst I wait,

With longing before Thy golden gate,

Till the day shall dawn,

When from Thy lips divine have passed

The sacred words that none may hear

But the soul who, loosed from the earth at last,

Hath laid her ear

To the Mouth that speaks in the still sweet morn

Apart and alone;

Then shall the secret of love be told,

The mystery known.