S. BONAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. i.
O sweet Jesu, I knew not that thy kisses were so sweet, nor thy society so delectable, nor thy attraction so virtuous: for when I love thee, I am clean; when I touch thee, I am chaste; when I receive thee, I am a virgin: O most sweet Jesu, thy embraces defile not, but cleanse; thy attraction polluteth not, but sanctifieth: O, Jesu, the fountain of universal sweetness, pardon me that I believed so late, that so much sweetness is in thy embraces.
My burden's greatest; let not Atlas boast: Impartial reader, judge which bears the most: He bears but Heav'n, my folded arms sustain Heav'n's Maker, whom Heav'n's Heav'n cannot contain.
By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
THE learned Cynic having lost the way
To honest men, did, in the height of day,
By taper-light, divide his steps about
The peopled streets, to find this dainty out;
But fail'd: the Cynic search'd not where he ought;
The thing he sought for was not where he sought.
The wise men's task seem'd harder to be done;
The wise men did by starlight seek the Sun,
And found: the wise men search'd it where they
The thing they hop'd to find was where they sought.
One seeks his wishes where he should; but then
Perchance he seeks not as he should, nor when.
Another searches when he should; but there
He fails; not seeking as he should, nor where.
Whose soul desires the good it wants, and would
Obtain, must seek where, as, and when he should.
How often have my wild affections led
My wasted soul to this my widow'd bed,
To seek my lover, whom my soul desires!
(I speak not, Cupid, of thy wanton fires:
Thy fires are all but dying sparks to mine;
My flames are full of Heav'n, and all divine.)
How often have I sought this bed by night,
To find that greater by this lesser light!
How oft have my unwitness'd groans lamented
Thy dearest absence! ah! how often vented
The bitter tempests of despairing breath,
And toss'd my soul upon the waves of death!
How often has my melting heart made choice
Of silent tears (tears louder than a voice)
To plead my grief, and woo thy absent ear!
And yet thou wilt not come, thou wilt not hear.
O, is thy wonted love become so cold?
Or do mine eyes not seek thee where they should?
Why do I seek thee, if thou art not here?
Or find thee not, if thou art ev'rywhere?
I see my error; 'tis not strange I could not
Find out my love; I sought him where I should not.
Thou art not found on downy beds of ease;
Alas! thy music strikes on harder keys:
Nor art thou found by that false feeble light
Of nature's candle; our Egyptian night
Is more than common darkness; nor can we
Expect a morning but what breaks from thee.
Well may my empty bed bewail thy loss,
When thou art lodg'd upon thy shameful cross:
If thou refuse to share a bed with me,
We'll never part, I'll share a cross with thee.
LORD, if thou art not present, where shall I seek thee absent? if everywhere, why do I not see thee present? thou dwellest in light inaccessible; and where is that inaccessible light? or how shall I have access to light inaccessible? I beseech thee, LORD, teach me to seek thee, and show thyself to the seeker; because I can neither seek thee, unless thou teach me; nor find thee, unless thou show thyself to me: let me seek thee in desiring thee, and desire thee in seeking thee: let me find thee in loving thee, and love thee in finding thee.
Where should thou seek for rest, but in thy bed?
But now thy rest is gone, thy rest is fled:
"Tis vain to seek him there: my soul, be wise;
Go ask thy sins, they'll tell thee where he lies.
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