Confession XII.

O Love, to thee I own, I wept in Night's dark Thought;

But now thy radiant Sun to me hath bright Day brought.

O Soul of my own Soul, my I as I am Thou:

Thou art the All, and I in thee have all I sought.

Thou art Life's Sweetness self, Intoxication full,—

The brimming Sea of Pearls, the Gold to pureness wrought.

Whoe'er approaches thee, must first his Soul resign;

He dies beneath thy frown, lives when thy Smile is caught.

Thy Favour thrills in fear the trembling Lover's heart,

Till comes thy Wrath and smites his Weakness into Naught.