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They speak of love, yet little feel its sway,
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey,
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works.
'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more;
Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best: Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.
My God, who form'd you for his praise alone,
Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice;
In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.
Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts,
Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine? If thou approve, the zeal thy smile imparts,
How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?
Love pure and holy, is a deathless fire;
Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire,
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise. Self-love dismiss'd,-'tis then we live indeed,— In her embrace, death, only death is found: Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed,
Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound!
Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear,
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own!
They hear me not.-Alas! how fond to rove
I taste the sweets of truth,-here only am secure.
I AM fond of the swallow ;-I learn from her flight,
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in the regions of air; 'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows, It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.
She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun;— So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays,
And the place where he shines not, immediately shun.
Our light should be Love, and our nourishment prayer ;
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.
'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below,
And only when building a nest for her young; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon any thing filthy as dung.
Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode,)
TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED.
AH! reign, wherever man is found,
When every human heart is thine.
A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,
To think that all are not thine own:
Where is thy zeal? arise; be known!
All hearts are cold, in every place,
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue ;
Thaw these of ice, and give us new!
A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION
PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE,
IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE.
'Twas my purpose on a day,
Love was sporting in the tide;
"Come," he said, "ascend! make haste,
Many mariners were there,
Love, with power divine supplied,
Did I with resentment burn
Next he hasten'd to convey
Still, however, life was safe;
Soon I saw him, with dismay,
How I trembled then and fear'd, When my love had disappear'd! "Wilt thou leave me thus," I cried, "Whelm'd beneath the rolling tide ?" Vain attempt to reach his ear! Love was gone, and would not hear.
Ah! return, and love me still;
Evil I have none to fear,
All is good, if Thou art near.