Oh, my Soul, she beats her wings
  And pants to fly away
Up to immortal Things
  In the Heavenly day:  40
Yet she flags and almost faints;
  Can such be meant for me? 
Come and see—­say the Saints. 
  Saith Jesus—­Come and see. 
  Say the Saints—­His Pleasures please us
    Before God and the Lamb. 
  Come and taste My Sweets—­saith Jesus—­
    Be with Me where I am.

COME UNTO ME

(Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.)

Oh, for the time gone by, when thought of Christ
  Made His Yoke easy and His Burden light;
  When my heart stirred within me at the sight
Of Altar spread for awful Eucharist;
When all my hopes His promises sufficed,
  When my Soul watched for Him by day, by night,
  When my lamp lightened and my robe was white,
And all seemed loss, except the Pearl unpriced. 
Yet, since He calls me still with tender Call,
  Since He remembers Whom I half forgot,
  I even will run my race and bear my lot: 
  For Faith the walls of Jericho cast down,
  And Hope to whoso runs holds forth a Crown,
And Love is Christ, and Christ is All in all.

JESUS, DO I LOVE THEE?

(Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.)

Jesus, do I love Thee? 
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in Heavenly Light
Of most highest height. 
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed She that bore Thee! 10
All the Saints approve Thee,
All the Virgins love Thee. 
I show as a blot
Blood hath cleansed not,
As a barren spot
In Thy fruitful lot. 
I, fig-tree fruit-unbearing;
Thou, righteous Judge unsparing: 
What canst Thou do more to me
That shall not more undo me? 20
Thy Justice hath a sound—­
Why cumbereth it the ground? 
Thy Love with stirrings stronger
Pleads—­Give it one year longer. 
Thou giv’st me time:  but who
Save Thou shall give me dew;
Shall feed my root with Blood,
And stir my sap for good? 
Oh, by Thy Gifts that shame me,
Give more lest they condemn me:  30
Good Lord, I ask much of Thee,
But most I ask to love Thee;
Kind Lord, be mindful of me,
Love me, and make me love Thee.

I KNOW YOU NOT

(Lyra Messianica, 1864.)

O Christ, the Vine with living Fruit,
The twelvefold-fruited Tree of Life,
The Balm in Gilead after strife,
The valley Lily and the Rose;
Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root;
Sweeter than clustered grapes, Thou Vine;
O Best, Thou Vineyard of red wine,
Keeping thy best wine till the close.