My love, My dove, thy feet are red,

Thy wings are strong, thy mouth is sweet,

Thine eyes are fair, erect thy head,

Beside the waters dost thou tread,

Thy flight is far and fleet.

O Lord, the Blood that hath ransomed me

Hath dyed my feet;

With Thy faithfulness my wings are strong,

With Thy Spirit my mouth is sweet.

And my eyes are fair with the light of God,

And safe in Thy shelter I lift my head,

And beside the waters of life I tread,

I follow where Thou hast trod;

And my flight is swift, for Thy love hath need

Of me, Lord, even me.

When from the earthly prison freed

My soul shall be;

Then shall she rest through the ages blest,

O Lord, in Thee.

It is a wondrous and a lofty road

Wherein the faithful soul must tread;

And by the seeing there the blind are led,

The senses by the soul acquaint with God.

On that high path the soul is free,

She knows no care nor ill,

For all God wills desireth she,

And blessed is His will.

Thus speaks the Bride, whose feet have trod

The chamber of eternal rest,

The secret treasure-house of God,

Where God is manifest:

“Created things, arise and flee,

Ye are but sorrow and care to me.”

This wide, wide world, so rich and fair,

Thou sure canst find thy solace there?

“Nay, ’neath the flowers the serpent glides,

Amidst the bravery envy hides.”

And is not heaven enough for thee?

“Were God not there ’twere a tomb to me.”

O Bride, the saints in glory shine,

Can they not fill that heart of thine?

“Nay, were the Lamb, their light, withdrawn,

The saints in gloom would weep and mourn.”

Can the Son of God not comfort thee?

“Yea, Christ and none besides for me!

For mine is a soul of noble birth,

That needeth more than heaven and earth;

And the breath of God must draw me in

To the Heart that was riven for my sin.

For the Sun of the Godhead pours His rays

Through the crystal depths of His manhood’s grace;

And the Spirit sent by Father and Son

Hath filled my soul, and my heart hath won;

And the longing and love are past and gone,

For all that is less than God alone—

God only, sweet to this heart of mine—

O wondrous death that is life divine!”

Of old, belovèd damsel,

My handmaid thou wouldst be;

But thy ways are strange and wondrous,

Thou hast chased and captured me.

Thou hast wounded me right sore,

Thou hast smitten me amain,

And I know that never more

Can my heart be whole again.

Can the hand that has wounded heal?

Or slay, if no balm there be?

Else had it been for my weal

Thou wert all unknown to me.

“I chased thee, for so was my will;

I captured thee, for my need;

I bound thee, and bind thee still,

For I would not have thee freed;

I wounded thee sore, that for evermore

Thou shouldest live by my life alone:

When I smote thee, mine wert thou life and limb;

I drave the Almighty God from His throne,

Of the life of His manhood despoiled I Him.

I brought Him back in glorious might

To the Father in heaven’s eternal light;

And thou, poor worm, shouldst thou go free,

As if my hand had not smitten thee?”