Chapter XV

Come! Come! Thou art the Soul, the Soul so dear, Revolving!
Come! Come! Thou art the Cedar, the Cedar's Spear, Revolving!
O Come! The Well of Light up-bubbling springs;
And Morning Stars exult, in Gladness sheer, Revolving!
Of the o'er-arching Heavens, the Highest is the Seventh;
But over all thou stretchest, bright, and clear, Revolving!
In warmest Arms of Love thou hold'st me clasped,
And thee I hold enclasped, soft breathing, near, Revolving!
In Sunbeams dance the Motes, by Sunlight grasped,
O Sunlight, grasping me, dispel my Fear, Revolving!
The Motes dance mute, yet telling all of Love;
O silent Love! Teach me thy own Dance here, Revolving!

The Soul in All