  That He is mine and I am His, Oh! wondrous thought. I am so poor, so weak, so lowly, can there aught Of worthiness in me be found, that He should love And seek me for His Bride? I hear His voice, “My Dove, Thou art all fair, My Spouse, there is no spot in thee; Thy speech is comely, better is thy love to Me Than wine! Thine eyes as Heshbon's fish-pools, and like flocks Upon Mount Gilead are thy spiced and flower-decked locks. The winter's past, My Dove, come, come with Me away, Far spent the night, make ready for thy nuptial day!” My heart responds, “Throughout the many-centuried night I've longed for Thee. I've waited for the dawning light; And I have laid Thee like sweet myrrh upon my breast, Thine arm beneath my weary head hath brought me rest. Thou whom my soul doth love, Thy countenance is fair To see within the secret places of the stair; Thy head is like fine gold, how beautiful Thy feet! Thine eyes as doves' eyes, and Thy lips with honey sweet. I rise, my Lord, I leave my father's house, behold My Robe of Righteousness, my raiment of wrought gold! Oh! wealth of love divine, that claims me for Thine own. Oh! miracle of grace, to seat me on Thy Throne. Oh! glorious future hopes, Oh! bliss beyond compare, Through all eternity Thy love and work to share!” —G.W.S. June 25, 1917. |
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