73
I am a slave set free,
And Love still leadeth me;
Love is my leader still,
Mind bows to do my will.
The tumult flareth up
Out of my circling cup;
This is my evening star,
My full moon, flaming far.
The spirit slept at rest,
Desire stirred not the breast,
Then struck a drunken air
Caught in my circling snare.
O world of scent and hue,
How long shall we so do?
Death thy survival proves
My living all is Love’s.
The One my thought reveals,
The One my thought conceals;
Here is His dwelling-place–
Behold my lofty grace!