Mechthild of Hellfde, 1277.
tr., Emma Frances Bevan, 1899
Thus speaks the Bride whose feet have trod
The chamber of eternal rest,
The secret treasure-house of God,
Where God is manifest:
"Created things, arise and flee,
Ye are but sorrow and care to me."
This wide, wide world, so rich and fair,
Thou sure canst find thy solace there?
"Nay, 'neath the flowers the serpent glides,
Amidst the bravery envy hides."
And is not Heaven enough for thee?
"Were God not there, 'twere a tomb to Me."
O Bride, the saints in glory shine;
Can they not fill this heart of thine?
"Nay, were the Lamb their Light withdrawn,
The saints in gloom would weep and mourn."
Can the Son of God not comfort thee?
"Yea, Christ and none besides for me.
For mine is a soul of noble birth,
That needeth more than Heaven and earth;
And the breath of God must draw me in
To the Heart that was riven for my sin.
For the Sun of the Godhead pours His rays
Through the crystal depths of His Manhood's grace.
And the Spirit sent by Father and Son
Hath filled my soul, and my heart hath won;
And the longing and love are past and gone,
For all that is less than God alone --
God only, sweet to this heart of mine,
O wondrous death that is life divine!"