Revolving in Mystic Dance 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!