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THE GIFT

“There came no more such abundance of spices as those which the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon.”—1 Kings x. 10.

Mechthild of Hellfde, † 1277.

tr., Emma Frances Bevan, 1899

“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;

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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.”

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