 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
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THE BRIDEGROOM'S VOICE
My suffering, My long-suffering ones,
My dearest ones of all,
You lie and listen in your pain,
To hear your Lover's call.
The joyous ones, the careless ones,
Have in My love a part;
And all of them are dear, but you
Are nearest to My Heart.
My dearest ones of all,
You lie and listen in your pain,
To hear your Lover's call.
The joyous ones, the careless ones,
Have in My love a part;
And all of them are dear, but you
Are nearest to My Heart.
My hidden ones, My hidden ones,
Down in the dull back street,
Laid low in the sick-chamber's gloom,
I know each dark retreat,
And dreary is the dismal day,
And long the weary night;
But to My eyes your blessèd souls
Like tapers shine alight.
Down in the dull back street,
Laid low in the sick-chamber's gloom,
I know each dark retreat,
And dreary is the dismal day,
And long the weary night;
But to My eyes your blessèd souls
Like tapers shine alight.
My slowly, sadly sinking ones,
Not beautiful you are;
With livid cheeks and twisted limbs,
And loathsome wound and scar.
Men turn their eyes away from you,
And from your breath they flee:
Your Bridegroom comes to clasp you close;
Fear not—for I am He.
Not beautiful you are;
With livid cheeks and twisted limbs,
And loathsome wound and scar.
Men turn their eyes away from you,
And from your breath they flee:
Your Bridegroom comes to clasp you close;
Fear not—for I am He.
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My little ones, My little ones,
To Me you are so fair:
The great, the glad ones pass Me by,
But you I cannot spare.
Companions of that solitude
Where breaks the Heart Divine,
Suffer with Me, and stay with Me,
For you are only Mine.
To Me you are so fair:
The great, the glad ones pass Me by,
But you I cannot spare.
Companions of that solitude
Where breaks the Heart Divine,
Suffer with Me, and stay with Me,
For you are only Mine.
My patient, My forgotten ones,
Your poor, pale lips entreat;
But who desires you? Who would die
One smile of yours to meet?
I journeyed far, a fight to death
I fought for you, alone:
I sold Myself to slavery,
To win you for My own.
Your poor, pale lips entreat;
But who desires you? Who would die
One smile of yours to meet?
I journeyed far, a fight to death
I fought for you, alone:
I sold Myself to slavery,
To win you for My own.
My lonely, My forsaken ones,
To you My steps return;
I pine for longing of your looks,
And for your lips I yearn.
I seize your hands, I hold them fast,
I cannot let you go;
I keep you in the secret place,
Which only you may know.
To you My steps return;
I pine for longing of your looks,
And for your lips I yearn.
I seize your hands, I hold them fast,
I cannot let you go;
I keep you in the secret place,
Which only you may know.
My beaten-down, My vanquished ones,
Your fainting murmurs reach
And wring My Heart, the Heart of God,
Past all the heavenly speech:
My Heart is torn, My open Heart,
My tears stream down anew;
My own hand trembles on the cup
I measure out for you.
Your fainting murmurs reach
And wring My Heart, the Heart of God,
Past all the heavenly speech:
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My tears stream down anew;
My own hand trembles on the cup
I measure out for you.
My feeble ones, My fettered ones,
Who from Me cannot fly,
Who drink of the same cup with Me,
And in My bosom lie:—
I kiss your hands, your piteous hands,
I kiss your helpless feet;
I would that I could be to you
As you to Me are sweet.
Who from Me cannot fly,
Who drink of the same cup with Me,
And in My bosom lie:—
I kiss your hands, your piteous hands,
I kiss your helpless feet;
I would that I could be to you
As you to Me are sweet.
My thrown aside, My broken ones,
My precious ones unprized;
Comfort Me, take Me to your heart,
Who am like you despised!
Mantled in scorn, obscure, concealed,
I fold you in My arms;
Only the Bridegroom lifts the veil,
Too jealous of your charms.
My precious ones unprized;
Comfort Me, take Me to your heart,
Who am like you despised!
Mantled in scorn, obscure, concealed,
I fold you in My arms;
Only the Bridegroom lifts the veil,
Too jealous of your charms.
I count the throbbings of your pulse,
I gather up your sighs,
All your complaining in the book
Of My remembrance lies:
Your names are graven on My hands,
Yea, pierced and graven deep;
The eyes that guard your sleepless hours
Slumber not, neither sleep.
I gather up your sighs,
All your complaining in the book
Of My remembrance lies:
Your names are graven on My hands,
Yea, pierced and graven deep;
The eyes that guard your sleepless hours
Slumber not, neither sleep.
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I watch the minutes sorrowful,—
You think that I forget!
I hold the pillows on My arms
On which your cheeks are wet.
O Holy Hours! whose pricelessness
So few have learned even yet:—
More friends have I on Calvary
Than upon Olivet.
You think that I forget!
I hold the pillows on My arms
On which your cheeks are wet.
O Holy Hours! whose pricelessness
So few have learned even yet:—
More friends have I on Calvary
Than upon Olivet.
For on My right hand and My left,
Two thieves are crucified;
And many stand afar and near,
And two are at My side.
But shuddering, from Gethsemane
All others turn and flee;
And through the midnight mystery still
Ye only watch with Me.
Two thieves are crucified;
And many stand afar and near,
And two are at My side.
But shuddering, from Gethsemane
All others turn and flee;
And through the midnight mystery still
Ye only watch with Me.
Some give me gold, yea all their store,
Some give Me prayer and praise;
Some give Me hearts of innocence,
Some give me all their days.
But none give back the bitter price
I paid their love to win,
Save you, My lambs of sacrifice,
Whose moans I hear within.
Some give Me prayer and praise;
Some give Me hearts of innocence,
Some give me all their days.
But none give back the bitter price
I paid their love to win,
Save you, My lambs of sacrifice,
Whose moans I hear within.
But you, My darlings, shut and sealed
Within the Nuptial House,
You wear My chain about your necks,
My crown upon your brows.
O chosen souls! in all the world
Whom I have found most sweet,
Can you forgive the Cross of Christ,
Where love and anguish meet?
Within the Nuptial House,
You wear My chain about your necks,
My crown upon your brows.
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Whom I have found most sweet,
Can you forgive the Cross of Christ,
Where love and anguish meet?
Yea, many think they love Me well,
To whom life is not loss;
They gaze up to the opened heaven,
But have passed by the Cross.
They too to Paradise shall come:—
But ere its white shores gleam,
They yet may find the Bridegroom's bower
Is other than they deem.
To whom life is not loss;
They gaze up to the opened heaven,
But have passed by the Cross.
They too to Paradise shall come:—
But ere its white shores gleam,
They yet may find the Bridegroom's bower
Is other than they deem.
For one with tears will kiss My feet,
And one My garment's hem,
And one to Thabor walks with Me,
One to Jerusalem.
And some will watch all night with Me
Out on the mountains wide:
But you lie down upon My bed,
And stir not from My side.
And one My garment's hem,
And one to Thabor walks with Me,
One to Jerusalem.
And some will watch all night with Me
Out on the mountains wide:
But you lie down upon My bed,
And stir not from My side.
But oh! My tender ones, My bed
Is hard and rough for you;
And spread with thorns, as thick as once
In Eden roses blew;
And strait and strong is my embrace,
And all your early bloom
Withers in mute surrendering,
As altar flames consume.
Is hard and rough for you;
And spread with thorns, as thick as once
In Eden roses blew;
And strait and strong is my embrace,
And all your early bloom
Withers in mute surrendering,
As altar flames consume.
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'Twas I betrothed you to Myself,
And Me you did not choose;
But though you were by force espoused,
Will you consent refuse?
Oh! awful is the throne to share,
And deep the cup to drink:
But am I nought to you at all,
That you should only shrink?
And Me you did not choose;
But though you were by force espoused,
Will you consent refuse?
Oh! awful is the throne to share,
And deep the cup to drink:
But am I nought to you at all,
That you should only shrink?
Lift up your face, and look at Me!
Alas, you do not dare:
Not yet your eyes may meet My own,
Their light you cannot bear.
Your face is hidden in your locks,—
Your face upon My breast;—
And in the wedding-robe of queens
Your loveliness is drest.
Alas, you do not dare:
Not yet your eyes may meet My own,
Their light you cannot bear.
Your face is hidden in your locks,—
Your face upon My breast;—
And in the wedding-robe of queens
Your loveliness is drest.
Will you then leave Me, will you part?
Is it too hard to bide?
Have you not one word left for Me,
Who listen by your side?
Is it My own right hand alone,
That wins and holds you fast?
Or will your own hearts cast out fear,
And give yourselves at last?
Is it too hard to bide?
Have you not one word left for Me,
Who listen by your side?
Is it My own right hand alone,
That wins and holds you fast?
Or will your own hearts cast out fear,
And give yourselves at last?
Earth's riches are too poor for you;
Instead, I give you Mine:
I bring you gifts from Holy Land,
Spikenard, and myrrh, and wine.
Command My Kingdom, ask of Me!
Nought can My love refuse;
Except to loose you from My arms:—
And that you may not choose.
Instead, I give you Mine:
I bring you gifts from Holy Land,
Spikenard, and myrrh, and wine.
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Nought can My love refuse;
Except to loose you from My arms:—
And that you may not choose.
Oh! in My treasuries your tears
Are pearls and precious stones;
And stars are quickened in the space
That trembles with your moans;
And gold-embossed the needlework
Of wound and sore and stain:
And ivory and cedar-built
Your crumbling house of pain.
Are pearls and precious stones;
And stars are quickened in the space
That trembles with your moans;
And gold-embossed the needlework
Of wound and sore and stain:
And ivory and cedar-built
Your crumbling house of pain.
Oh! this is not the singing-time
Of birds, when I shall say,
As morning breaks,—‘Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away!’
This is the winter and the night:—
The night is long and cold;
With only fire of love at heart,
To keep on life a hold.
Of birds, when I shall say,
As morning breaks,—‘Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away!’
This is the winter and the night:—
The night is long and cold;
With only fire of love at heart,
To keep on life a hold.
O white espousèd souls of Mine!
Your crowning hour I wait;
When you and I shall rest at last,
Inside My palace-gate.
The joyous angels guard each side
The path they never trod;
For they are but your servitors,
And you the brides of God.
Your crowning hour I wait;
When you and I shall rest at last,
Inside My palace-gate.
The joyous angels guard each side
The path they never trod;
For they are but your servitors,
And you the brides of God.
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |