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Love is the Lord whom I obey,
Whose will transported I perform;

The centre of my rest, my stay,
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm.

For uncreated charms I burn,
Oppressed by slavish fear no more;

For One in whom I may discern,
Even when He frowns, a sweetness I adore.

He little loves Him who complains,
And finds him rigorous and severe;

His heart is sordid, and he feigns,
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere.

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And stimulate the slumbering mind;

And he has never tasted love
Who shuns a pang so graciously designed.

Sweet is the cross, above all sweets, To souls enamoured with Thy smiles;

The keenest woe life ever meets Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.

'Tis just that God should not be dear Where Self engrosses all the thought,

And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not.

The love of Thee flows just as much As that of ebbing self subsides;

Our hearts, their scantiness is such, Bear not the conflict of two rival tides.

Both cannot govern in one soul; Then let self-love be dispossessed;

The love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest.


Sun! stay thy course, this moment stay—•

Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day,
Divulge not such a love as mine,
Ah! hide the mystery divine;
Lest man, who deems my glory shame,
Should learn the secret of my flame.

O Night! propitious to my views,
Thy sable awning wide diffuse:
Conceal alike my joy and pain,
Nor draw thy curtain back again,
Though morning, by the tears she shows,
Seems to participate my woes.

Ye Stars! whose faint and feeble fires

Express my languishing desires,

Whose slender beams pervade the skies

As silent as my secret sighs,

Those emanations of a soul

That darts her fires beyond the pole;

Your rays, that scarce assist the sight,
That pierce, but not displace, the night,
That shine indeed, but nothing show
()f all those various scenes below,
Bring no disturbance, rather prove
Incentives to a sacred love.


Thou Moon! whose never-failing course
Bespeaks a providential force,
Go, tell the tidings of my flame
To Him who calls the stars by name,
Whose absence kills, whose presence
cheers, Who blots or brightens all my years.

While, in the blue abyss of space,
Thine orb performs its rapid race,
Still whisper in his listening ears
The language of my sighs and tears;
Tell him, I seek him, far below,
Lost in a wilderness of woe.

Ye thought-composing, silent Hours,
Diffusing peace o'er all my powers,
Friends of the pensive! who conceal
In darkest shades the flames I feel;
To you I trust, and safely may,
The love that wastes my strength away.

In sylvan scenes and caverns rude,
I taste the sweets of solitude;
Retired indeed, but not alone,
I share them with a Spouse unknown,
Who hides me here, from envious eyes,
From all intrusion and surprise.

Imbowering Shades, and Dens pro-
found IWhere Echo rolls the voice around;
Mountains! whose elevated heads
A moist and misty veil o'erspreads;
Disclose a solitary bride
To Him I love—to none beside.

Ye Rills! that, murmuring all the way,
Among the polished pebbles stray;
Creep silently along the ground,
Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound,
Some wanderer, whom I would not
meet, Should stumble on my loved retreat.

Enamelled Meads, and Hillocks green,
And Streams that water all the scene!
Ye Torrents, loud in distant ears!
Ye Fountains! that receive my tears!
Ah! still conceal, with caution due,
A charge I trust with none but you.

If, when my pain and grief increase,
I seem to enjoy the sweetest peace,
It is because I find so fair
The charming object of my care,
That I can sport and pleasure make
Of torment suffered for His sake.

Ye Meads and Groves, unconscious things!Ye know not whence my pleasure springs:

Ye know not, and ye cannot know,
The source from which my sorrows flow:
The dear sole Cause of all I feel,—
He knows, and understands them well.

Ye Deserts X where the wild beasts rove,
Scenes sacred to my hours of love;
Ye Forests! in whose shades I stray,
Benighted under burning day;
Ah! whisper not how blest am I,
Nor while I live, nor when I die.

V'e Lambs! who sport beneath these
shades, And bound along the mossy glades,
Be taught a salutary fear,
And cease to bleat when I am near:
The wolf may hear your harmless cry,
Whom ye should dread as much as I.

How calm, amid these scenes, my mind!
How perfect is the peace I find!
Oh, hush, be still, my every part,
My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart!
That Love, aspiring to its cause,
May suffer not a moment's pause.

Ye swift-finned nations, that abide
In seas as fathomless as wide;
And, unsuspicious of a snare,
Pursue at large your pleasures there:
Poor sportive fools! how soon does man
Your heedless ignorance trepan!

Away! dive deep into the brine,
Where never yet sunk plummet-line;
Trust me, the vast leviathan
Is merciful, compared with man;
Avoid his arts, forsake the beach,
And never play within his reach!

My soul her bondage ill endures;

I pant for liberty like yours;

I long for that immense profound,

That knows no bottom and no bound;

Lost in infinity, to prove

The incomprehensible of Love.

Ye Birds! that lessen as ye fly,
And vanish in the distant sky;
To whom yon airy waste belongs,
Resounding with your cheerful songs;
Haste to escape from human sight!
Fear less the vulture and the kite.

How blest and how secure am I,
When, quitting earth, I soar on high;
When, lost, like you I disappear,
And float in a sublimer sphere!
Whence falling, within human view,
I am ensnared, and caught like you.

Omniscient God, whose notice deigns
To try the heart and search the reins,
Compassionate the numerous woes
I dare not, even to Thee, disclose;
Oh save me from the cruel hands
Of men, who fear not Thy commands!

Love, all-subduing and divine,
Care for a creature truly Thine;
Reign in a heart disposed to own
No sovereign but Thyself alone;
Cherish a bride who cannot rove,
Nor quit Thee for a meaner love!


I SUFFER fruitless anguish day by day,

Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;

Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.

The more I strive the more I am withstood;

Anxiety increasing every hour,
My spirit finds no rest, performs no good,

And nought remains of all my former power.

My peace of heart is fled, I know not where;

My happy hours, like shadows, passed away;
Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care,

Night darker seems, succeeding such a day.

Dear faded joys, and impotent regret, What profit is there in incessant tears?
O Thou, whom, once beheld, we ne'er forget, Reveal thy Love, and banish all my fears!

Alas! He flies me—treats me as his foe, Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead;

Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe,
Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed.

Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive;

My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires;
And while in terrors of Thy wrath I live,

Hell seems to lose its less tremendous fires.

Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear,

So thy severe displeasure might subside?
Hopeless of ease, I seem already there,

My life extinguished, and yet death denied.

Is this the joy so promised ?—this the love, The unchanging love, so sworn in better days?

Ah! dangerous glories! shown me, but to prove
How lovely Thou, and I how rash to gaze.

Why did I see them? had I still remained
Untaught, still ignorant how fair Thou art,

My humbler wishes I had soon obtained,
Nor known the torments of a doubting heart.

Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires,

Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain?Dubious and uninformed, my soul inquires—
Ought she to cherish or shake off her pain?

Suffering, I suffer not; sincerely love,

Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame;

As chance inclines me, unconcerned I move,
All times, and all events, to me the same.

I search my heart, and not a wish is there,
But burns with zeal that hated self may fall;

Such is the sad disquietude I share, A sea of doubts, and self the source of all.

I ask not life, nor do I wish to die;

And if thine hand accomplish not my cure, I would not purchase with a single sigh

A free discharge from all that I endure.

I groan in chains, yet want not a release;

Am sick, and know not the distempered part; Am just as void of purpose as of peace;

Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.

My claim to life, though sought with earnest care,
No light within me or without me shows;

Once I had faith, but now in self-despair
Find my chief cordial and my best repose.

My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks,
Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise;

Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks
Her name erased for ever from the skies.

Language affords not my distress a name,—

Yet is it real, and no sickly dream;
'Tis Love inflicts it; though to feel that flame

Is all I know of happiness supreme.

When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast,
And dark as hell, is opened in the soul;

When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past,
No tempests shake her, and no fears control.

Then tell me why these ages of delay?

O Love, all excellent, once more appear, Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day,

From this abyss of night, these floods of fear!

No—Love is angry, will not now endure
A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint;

He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure;
Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint.

He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow;He flies, he reappears, and wounds again ;— Was ever heart that loved Thee treated so?Yet I adore Thee, though it seem in vain.

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