“O Lord, too long Thou dost guard and spare

This dungeon-house of clay,

Where I drink the water of sorrow and care,

And the ashes of emptiness are my fare,

From day to day.”

“Where is thy patience, O My Queen?

Let Thy sorrow be sore as it may,

I heal it as if it never had been,

When I speak, it has passed away.

My riches of glory for ever are thine,

Thy might has prevailed over Me,

For I love thee for ever with love divine;

If thou hast the token, the gold is Mine,

And I weigh full measure to thee.

For all things renounced, and for all things wrought,

All sorrow, and all endeavour,

I give thee beyond all desire or thought,

For I give thee Myself for ever.”