Part 2
And thus she passes through the forest dim, Where holy people dwell, And day and night, with dance and song and hymn, Their gladness tell; With solemn dance of praise that knows no end, Hands linked with other hands of ancient years; The mighty faith of Abraham His friend, The longing of His seers; The chaste humility of her who bore God's blessed Son; And all the victories that in days before His saints have won - These join in dance attuned to glorious song And move in cadence sweet, And multiplied as ages pass along Are those rejoicing feet.
He says -
"Beloved, do as they have done Who praise My name always."
And she makes answer -
"You must lead me on, And I will dance as they; I move to music of Your song Rejoicing over me, And so my halting steps are strong To follow after You; To pass within Your love's eternal rest, And onwards to confess You undismayed; And onwards yet, till on my Saviour's breast My soul is stayed; And yet beyond that rest and joy of mine, To joy which heart of man has never known, Where Christ rejoices in His Song Divine -
That joy of perfect love, O Lord, is Yours, And Yours alone."
Then He speaks and say -
"Beloved, you have praised Me in the dance And weary are your feet - Behold in shadow of the trees of God The rest is sweet, Rest, rest with Me."
"O Lord, too great this love of Your, Your only can it be; For, lo! my love, Lord, is not mine, It comes from You."
The Journey through the Wilderness.
Thus much do we know of the journey of this redeemed soul from selfoccupation and self-discipline, whilst Christ listened for her voice in vain, to the knowledge of the peace and joy that is in Him. And we know something also of her earthly path, told us in a spiritual song, which she calls "How fair is the Bridegroom, and how the bride follows Him."
"Behold, My bride, how fair My mouth, My eyes; My heart is glowing fire, My hand is grace; And see how swift My foot, and follow Me. For you with Me shall scorned and martyred be, Betrayed by envy, tempted in the wilds, And seized by hate, and bound by calumny, And they shall bind your eyes lest you should see, By hiding My eternal truth from thee. And they shall scourge you with the worlds despite, And shrive you with the ban of doom and dread, For penance your dishonoured head shall smite, By mockery you to Herod shall be led, By misery left forlorn - And scourged by lack, and by temptation crowned,
And spit on by scorn. The loathing of your sin your cross shall be; Your crucifixion, crossing of your will; The nails, obedience that shall fasten thee; And love shall wound, and steadfastness shall slay, Yet you shall love Me still. The spear shall pierce your heart, and Mine shall be The life that lives and moves henceforth in thee. Then as a conqueror loosened from the cross, Laid in the grave of nothingness and loss, You shall awaken, and be borne above On the breath of My almighty love."
Thus the revelation of the love of God, which was to the soul the opening of heaven, the entrance into the Father's house where was the feast of joy, the music, and the dancing, was to lead to a walk of faithfulness here below, which would bring on the witness of God persecution and shame and reproach.
Was it, therefore, that when the Lord had spoken to the Pharisees of the love which welcomes the publican and the sinner, of the joy and gladness into which the returning son was brought, He spoke to the disciples the solemn warning lest the riches, not only temporal, but spiritual, entrusted to them as stewards should be wasted by them? Is it not true that the revelation to the soul of what is in the Father's house, the joy and the love, and the unspeakable riches of Christ, needs nothing less than Divine grace and power to keep us from misusing the treasure entrusted to us, and making it an occasion for feeding and exalting the fleshly mind?
Therefore Paul needed the thorn in the flesh, not to fit him for entering the third heaven, but after he had been there; so that the riches given to him were not made an occasion for self-glorification, but he became a good steward of the manifold grace of God.
It is to be carefully remarked in the writings of Matilda, that she does not speak of this entrance into the gladness of heaven as an attainment. On the contrary, as we have seen, she speaks of the result of her repentance,
of her conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil, as being but weariness and thirst.
It is only when Christ comes into the parable that the heavenly experience begins.
"For," she says, "before the time when Jesus Christ opened heaven with the key of His cross, there was no man so holy that he could, or that he might, ascend up into the Eternal heavens - not with labour or with the soaring of the imagination, not with longing or the stretching forth of imploring arms, not with the utmost yearning of his love. For Adam had fastened the bolt so firmly, that no man could open it. Should You, then, O Eternal Father, keep fast the door of heaven with the bolt of Your justice, so that sinners must remain without, I turn to Jesus, Your beloved Son, who holds in His hands the key of Your almighty power.
"That key was forged in the land of the Jews, (and truly the Jews now would lock Your people out of heaven and keep them in bondage), but when the key was turned by Jesus, the outcast sinner could enter into Your love. But it is also the love of the Father who speaketh, and says, 'My soul endures not that any sinner should be turned away who comes to Me; therefore do I follow after many a soul for long, long years, till I lay hold on him, and hold him fast.'"
By the Jews who would lock the people of God out of heaven Matilda, it need not be said, had in her mind the Jews of Christendom, the professing Church being constantly called by her Jerusalem, and the formalist priests "those who follow the law of the Jews."
But the name of Jerusalem was also employed by her as a name of honour, applied to the true Church of God, the true Bride of Christ.
For within the outward profession of Christianity, Matilda recognised the living Body of Christ. It is true that the two should have been one and the same, as the soul and the visible body are one person. But it was no longer so, and Matilda therefore saw the professing Church, Christendom, divided into two parts, the living and the dead, the true and the false, the
children of God and the children of this world. To her the true and living Church was yet glorious and undivided, for it was united in one by the Spirit of God. Whether amongst professing Catholics or amongst the "Friends of God" who stood apart from Rome these living stones were found, there was yet but the one building, the dwelling-place of God.
If Matilda had no thoughts respecting the "Reunion of Christendom," she had a firm belief in the Unity of the Church of God. It could not be reunited, for it was the Body of Christ. The prayer of the Lord "that they all may be one," had been heard. "I know," He said, "that You hear Me always."
Through the ages when Christendom had been divided into countless sects, the true Members of Christ, whether they knew it or not, had been, and must be, one. It needed but to believe it, and to own it. But in order to recognise it as true, it was necessary that the eyes should be opened to see that the same profession of faith, or all varying professions of Christian faith, included the two classes, the living and the dead; the living, united together as the living members of the body; the dead, but separate particles of mouldering dust.
A "Reunion of Christendom," which would have as its object to form into one mass the living and the dead, can be but a denial of the great truth that "there is one Body and one Spirit, even as You are called in one hope of your calling."
Matilda, in a parable, describes the true Church of God as a beautiful maiden standing on a mighty stone, which was as a mountain of spices, and the name of which was Christ, her feet adorned with a jasper stone, which is Christian faith; and in her hand a cup, of which she drank alone "in unspeakable blessedness," for the angels in heaven might not drink of it - it was "the Blood of the Eternal Son."
Matilda knew, and rejoiced to know, that she was one with all the saints of all the ages, and she tells us her experience of it also.
As Mary, she said, she knew how the sword had pierced through her own soul also, because so many who seem "religious" are lukewarm and undecided for Christ.
As John, "I know what it is to rest in the unspeakable love on the bosom of Jesus Christ."
And as Paul, "Yes, Paul, I was caught up with you, and I saw so marvellous a place, that from then on I could only long to be there always. And I drank of the wine of which the heavenly Father is the cup-bearer, and Christ is the cup, and the Holy Spirit the pure, clear wine, and love is the filling. And love invited me and welcomed me to drink, so that now I am well content to drink gall and vinegar here below."
And further, "Stephen, I kneel beside you before the Jews who hated you, amongst the sharp stones, which fall on me, great ones and small ones, all my days. Those who seem to be good people stone me in the back, and run away, for they would not have me know it was they who did it. God, however, saw it."
"Mary Magdalene, I live with you in the wilderness, for all is sorrow to me except my God."
Practice.
Of Matilda's daily life we know but little, having scarcely any incidents recorded in her book. Apparently, from various passages, we can learn that, like most Béguines, her time was chiefly occupied in tending the sick and poor.
She considered it needful to visit the sick in the Béguinage daily, "to comfort them with the lovely words of God, and to refresh them also in a gentle way with earthly things, for God is very rich. It is needful also to bestow much care on the cleanliness of the sick-room, and it is a good thing to be merry and to laugh with them, but in a godly manner. And it is well to serve them with ready hands, and to ask them kindly to tell what are their pains and complaints, and to show them that they have a friend
who will stand by them and care for them."
Household matters, too, were a part of Matilda's experience. "It is right to go every day into the kitchen, and to see that the needful provisions are good, so that our stinginess, or the cook's laziness, may not rob the Lord of the bodily strength of His servants. A hungry mouth will sing the Lord's praises ill, and a hungry man is little fit for study, and this is so much taken from the Lord's service."
Matilda also wrote letters, containing much wholesome advice. From a letter to a prior is the following: -
"We should listen to any complaints with sympathy, and be very faithful in giving counsel. If the brethren desire to build magnificently, you should hinder this, and say, 'Ah, dearest brethren, let us rather build for God a beautiful palace in our souls, with the stones of Holy Scripture and holy graces.'
"The first stone of such a palace, in which the eternal God may dwell, and where His beloved may dwell with Him, is deep humility. We do not desire to build in pride and vanity, as the lords and ladies of this world; but we do need to build as heavenly princes on earth, knowing that at the last day we shall sit on thrones with the despised Jesus.
"And make sure that during the day or the night you find a full spare hour to converse with our dear Lord and God, praying to Him without hindrance. For the heavenly gift which God loves to give to His elect, His beloved children, is of a fine and noble sort, and it flows freely to the soul that draws near to Him, and to whom He bends down in His infinite love.
"For His heart was so smitten with love to us that He gave up all things, and emptied Himself for more than thirty years, that He might at last embrace His beloved, and give free course to His love.
"Will you not think of this? Could you be so discourteous to Him, as to refuse Him one hour a day in return for these thirty years?
"When I, the lowest of the least, go to my prayers, I adorn myself for this hour. I put on as my only ornament my unworthiness, I array myself in the dirty mud that I am, and I am shod with the precious time that I have lost day by day, and I am girded with the pain which I have caused to others. And I am wrapped in the cloak of my sinfulness, of which I am full; and I put on my head the crown of my secret faults, wherewith I have trespassed against the Lord. Then I take the glass of the truth and look in it to see myself therein, and alas! I see but sorrow and shame. I would rather put on this dress than any rich attire, although it were better to be clothed in hell, and crowned with devils, than to be sinful as I am.
"And in this dress I go to seek Jesus, my blessed Lord, and I find Him in no other way so truly as in my sin.
"So with joy I go to Him, with love and fear, and the uncleanness of my sin vanishes before His holy eyes, and He looks on me with such love, that my heart overflows with love to Him. And all the guilt and grief are gone, and He teaches me His will, and makes me taste His sweetness, and He overwhelms me with His tender love.
"Prayer has a marvellous power, it makes the bitter heart sweet, and the sorrowful heart glad, and the poor rich, and the foolish wise, and the fearful bold, and the sick strong, and the blind to see, and the cold to burn. It draws the great God down into the small heart, and lifts the hungry soul up to God, the living Fountain. It brings together the loving God and the loving soul in a blessed meeting-place, and they speak together of love."
In another letter she says, "What hinders spiritual people more, perhaps, than anything, is the little importance attached to small sins. I tell you in truth, when I neglect a pleasant laugh that would have hurt nobody, or when I allow bitterness in my heart even without showing it in word or action, or when I feel a little impatience in suffering pain, my soul becomes so dark, and my mind so dull, and my heart so cold, that I have to go and confess my sin with shame and tears. I feel like a dog who has been beaten till I breathe again freely in the love and mercy of God, and find myself again in the sweet garden of Paradise, out of which my sin had driven me."
Gleanings from Matilda's Book.
The seven books which compose "The flowing forth of the light of the Godhead" being composed of detached papers put together by Brother Henry, have, as has been remarked, no special connection one with another. It may be as well to give detached poems from the first five books, and thoughts in prose, or rather not in rhyme, asking indulgence for the imperfect rendering of either into modern English. The titles given are from the original.
How God is to be Praised for Eight Things.
O Dew, abundant from the depths of Heaven; O sweet white Flower, pure as mountain snow; O Precious Fruit of that celestial Flower; O Ransom from the everlasting woe; The holy Sacrifice for sins of men; The Gift that the eternal Father gave; O Dew of life, by You I live again, By You who came down to seek and save. I see You small, in low and humble guise; And me You see, great in shame and sin: Lord, I would be Your daily sacrifice, Though I am worthless, vile, and foul within. Yet into that mean cup Your grace will pour The love that overflows for evermore.
How God draws the Soul to Himself.
Eagle of the highest Heaven, gentle Lamb, Infolding Fire, Kindle, glow in me. Barren, thirsty, do I seek You, Through the ages of desire, One day as a thousand winters, Waiting, Lord, for You. Bitterer to the soul that loves Far from her Beloved to dwell,
Than the pit of doom to sinners - An abyss there is profounder Than the depths of hell. . . . . . . .
The nightingale she can but sing, For she is made of love's delight, Of love bereft, what else were left Than death and night?
Then spake the spirit to the soul -
"Arise, O Queen, and sing! Behold, He comes, the Beloved One, Behold the Bridegroom King!"
Then spake the soul in joyful fear -
"O blessed Herald, so might it be! For I am faithless, guilty, vile, In Him alone is there rest for me. For me is no home beneath the skies, No summer land, and no resting-place, But the marvellous pity of His eyes, And the sweetness of His Face; And when all around the lights are dim, The heart that sorrows turns to Him."
The Herald said -
"You must watch and wait, And water the earth, and strew the flowers."
But the soul made answer -
"The desolate Must watch in prayer, and must wait in shame,
In tears must water, and long for the day; But if as I strew the flowers He came, From myself and my tears I should pass away. For He strikes the chords of the heavenly lyre, And sorrow and sadness turn and flee, And the earthly love, and the earth's desire, In that music sweet depart from me."
The Soul's Desire sent Forth to Seek the Beloved One.
Thus spake the soul to her desire -
"Speed forth afar and see Where may my Belovèd be, And say to Him, 'His love I crave.'"
Then fled the swift desire afar, And rose beyond sun, moon, and star, And called before the heavenly door, "Lord, open to me!"
Then spake the Host -
"What need have you, That you thus implore?"
"O Lord, I come with the prayer of one Who weeps on the earth alone - The fish on the sand must pine."
"Go back! no door is unbarred to you Till you bring the sorrowful soul to Me, For the need is Mine ."
Then sped the messenger swiftly home, and said -
"The Master calls Come! Arise and shine!"
Then she as on summer winds does rise In joyful flight through the starry skies, And there meet her angels twain; For God has sent two angels fleet, The well-belovèd soul to meet.
And they ask -
"What seek you thus afar? With the dark earth are you clad."
The soul said -
"Greet me better than so, For to Him who loves me well I go, And I am no more sad. Lo! dimmed as You near the earth below, Is the sweet light of your eyes; And with light of God do I shine and glow As aloft I rise." Then with an angel on either hand, The soul sped through the skies, And when she came to the angel land, To the country of Paradise, She was a stranger guest no more, For to her was opened the heavenly door, She saw the Beloved Face. Forth flowed her heart in weeping blest, She said, "My Lord, I have found my rest In the glory of Your grace. I needs must praise You and adore, For evermore, for evermore. Whence came I here? I am lost in You; I can think no more of the earth below, Nor of the sorrow and weeping there. I had thought to tell You my grief and woe, But, Lord, I have seen You, and nought I know,
But that You are fair."
The Complaint of the Loving Soul, and the Answer of God.
"O Lord, too long You guard and spare This dungeon-house of clay, Where I drink the water of sorrow and care, And the ashes of emptiness are my fare, From day to day."
"Where is your patience, O My Queen? Let Your sorrow be sore as it may, I heal it as if it never had been, When I speak, it has passed away. My riches of glory for ever are yours, Your might has prevailed over Me, For I love you for ever with love divine; If you have the token, the gold is Mine, And I weigh full measure to thee. For all things renounced, and for all things wrought, All sorrow, and all endeavour, I give you beyond all desire or thought, For I give you Myself for ever."
How God comes into the Soul.
He comes to me in silent hours, As morning dew to summer flowers.
How the Soul receives God, and how God receives the Soul.
O sweet enfolding in the Arms divine, O blessed Vision, welcome passing sweet, I bow beneath the joy that I am Yours, A weight of gladness cast I at Your feet. O heights of God! within Your clefts I hide, The home where dove and nightingale abide.
"All hail, My dove! on earth below You have roamed afar and long, Until should grow the strong swift wings, That should bear You aloft from your wanderings To the rest and song."
The Soul's fivefold Praise of God.
O blessed God, who pour forth Your store; O God, whose love flows on for evermore; O God, whose longing burns eternally; O God, in whom I dwell, whose dwelling is in me; O God, whose rest is in my love - In You alone I live and move.
Of the Soul's Complaint, of the Garden, and of the New Song.
"When my eyes are dim with weeping, And my tongue with grief is dumb; And it is as if You were sleeping When my heart calls, 'Come;' When I hunger with bitter hunger, O Lord, for You. Where are You, then, Belovèd? Speak, speak to me." "I am where I was in the ancient days, I in Myself must be; In all things I am, and in every place, For there is no change in Me. Where the sun is My Godhead, throned above, For thee, O My own, I wait; I wait for you in the garden of love, Till you come irradiate With the light that shines from My Face divine, And I pluck the flowers for thee; They are yours, belovèd, for they are Mine, And you are one with Me. In the tender grass by the waters still, I have made your resting-place;
Your rest shall be sweet in My holy will, And sure in My changeless grace. And I bend for you the holy Tree, Where blossoms the mystic Rod; The highest of all the trees that be In the Paradise of God. And you of that Tree of life shall eat, Of the Life that is in Me; You shall feed on the fruit that is good for meat, And passing fair to see. There overshadowed by mighty wings Of the Holy Spirit's peace, Beyond the sorrow of earthly things, The toil and the tears shall cease. And there beneath the eternal Tree, I will teach your lips to sing The sweet new song that no man knows In the land of his banishing. They follow the Lamb where'er He goes, To whom it is revealed; The pure and the undefiled are those, The ransomed and the sealed. You shall learn the speech and the music rare, And you shall sing as they, Not only there in My garden fair, But here, belovèd, to-day."
"O Lord, a faint and a feeble voice Is mine in this house of clay, But Your love has made my lips rejoice, And I can sing and say, 'I am pure, O Lord, for You are pure, Your love and mine are one; And my robe is white, for Your is white, And brighter than the sun. Your mouth and mine can know no moan, No note of man's sad mirth,
But the everlasting joy alone, Unknown to songs of earth; And for ever fed on that living Tree, I will sing the song of Your love with You.'"
God's fivefold Comparing of the Soul.
Rose, most fair amidst the briars; Harmless dove, so pure and white; Honey-bee that never tires; Sun of everlasting light; Full fair moon in cloudless skies - Joy and gladness to My eyes.
God's sixfold Delight in the Soul.
O soul, you are the pillow for My Head, My still sweet rest, My longing deep and strong, My Godhead's joy, My Manhood's solace sweet, My cooling fountain in love's furnace heat, My music, and My song.
Knowledge and Enjoyment.
To love, and not to know, Is through a dark wild land to go; To know, and not possess, Is hell's dread bitterness; Possess, yet not be where You art, Has rent my heart.
The Prayer for Love, and the Answer.
"O Lord my Saviour, love me well, And love me often and long -
Often, that pure my soul may be; Well, that so I be fair to see; Long, and for ever, for You apart Shall be my heart."
"That often I love you needs must be, For I am Love from eternity; And I love you well, because I long For your love with a yearning deep and strong; And I love you long, for no end can be To My divine eternity."
Love to Death; Love Immeasurable; Love Eternal.
I rejoice that I cannot but love Him, Because He first loved me; I would that measureless, changeless, My love might be; A love to death, and for ever; For, soul, He died for you. Give thanks that for you He delighted To leave His glory on high; For you to be humbled, forsaken, For you to die. Will you render Him love for His loving? Will you die for Him who died? And so, by your living and dying, Shall Christ be magnified. And deep in the fiery stream that flows From God's high throne, In the burning tide that for ever glows Of the marvellous love unknown; For ever, O soul, you shall burn and glow, And you shall sing and say, "I need no call at His feet to fall, For I cannot turn away. I am the captive led along
With the joy of His triumphal song; In the depths of love I live and move, I joy to live or to die; For I am borne on the tide of love To all eternity: The foolishness of the fool is this, The sorrow sweeter than joy to miss."
God asks the Soul what She brings, and She Answers.
"What do you bring me, O my Queen? Love makes your steps to fly."
"Lord, to You my jewel I bring, Greater than mountains high; Broader than all the earth's broad lands, Heavier than the ocean sands, And higher it is than the sky: Deeper it is than the depths of the sea, And fairer than the sun, Unreckoned, as if the stars could be All gathered into one."
"O thou, My Godhead's image fair, You Eve, from Adam framed, My flesh, My bone, My life to share, My Spirit's diadem to wear, How is your jewel named?"
"Lord, it is called my heart's desire, From the world's enchantments won; I have borne it afar through flood and fire, And will yield it up to none; But the burden I can bear no more - Where shall I lay it up in store?"
"There is no treasure-house but this, My heart divine, My Manhood's breast;
There shall My Spirit's sacred kiss Fill you with rest."
How the Soul praises God for Seven Things, and God praises the Soul who loves Him.
O Jesus Lord, most fair, most passing sweet, In darkest hours revealed in love to me, In those dark hours I fall before Your Feet, I sing to You. I join the song of love, and I adore With those who worship You for evermore. You are the Sun of every eye, The Gladness everywhere, The Voice that speaks eternally, The Strength to do and bear, The sacred Lore of wisdom's store, The Life of life to all, The Order mystic, marvellous In all things great and small.
Then God praises the soul, and the words of His praise sound sweetly, thus -
You are light to My eyes, and a harp to My ears, And the voice of My words, and My wisdom's crown, The love that cheers My eternal years, My music, and My renown. Wherever your pilgrim steps may be, You long, belovèd, you long for Me.
The soul says -
Your love have You told from the days of old, You have written my name in Your Book divine; Engraved on Your Hands and Your feet it stands, And on Your side as a sign.
O glorious Man in the garden of God, Your sacred Manhood is mine. I kneel on the golden floor of heaven With my box of ointment sweet, Grant to me, Your much forgiven, To kiss and anoint Your feet.
Where will you find that ointment rare, O My belovèd one?
You broke my heart and found it there, Rest sweetly there alone.
There is no embalming so sweet to Me, As to dwell, My well-beloved, in thee.
The soul says -
Lord, take me home to Your palace fair, So will I ever anoint You there.
"I will. But My plighted troth says, 'Wait;' And My love says, 'Work to-day;' My meekness says, 'Be of low estate;' And My longing, 'Watch and pray;' My shame and sorrow say, 'Bear My cross;' My song says, 'Win the crown;' My guerdon says, 'All else is loss;' My patience says, 'Be still,' Till you shall lay the burden down, Then, when I will. Then, belovèd, the crown and palm, And then the music and the psalm; And the cup of joy My Hand shall fill Till it overflow; And with singing I strike the harp of gold I have tuned below,
The harp I tune in desolate years Of sorrow and tears, Till a music sweet the chords repeat, Which all the heavens shall fill; For the holy courts of God made meet, Then, when I will."
A fivefold Song of the Soul to God, and how God is a Robe of the Soul, and the Soul a robe of God.
You have shone within this soul of mine, As the sun on a shrine of gold; When I rest my heart, O Lord, on Yours, My bliss is manifold. My soul is the gem on Your diadem, And my marriage robe You are; If aught could sever my heart from Yours, The sorrow beyond all sorrows were mine, Alone and apart. Could I not find Your love below, Then would my soul as a pilgrim go To Your holy land above; There would I love You as I were fain, With everlasting love. Now have I sung my tuneless song, But I hearken, Lord, for Yours; Then shall a music, sweet and strong, Pass into mine.
"I am the Light, and the lamp you art; The River, and you the thirsty land; To you your sighs have drawn My heart, And ever beneath You is My hand. And when you weep, it needs must be Within My arms that encompass thee; Your heart from Mine can none divide, For one are, the Bridegroom and the Bride:
It is sweet, belovèd, for Me and thee, To wait for the day that is to be."
O Lord, with hunger and thirst I wait, With longing before Your golden gate, Till the day shall dawn, When from Your lips divine have passed The sacred words that none may hear But the soul who, loosed from the earth at last, Has laid her ear To the Mouth that speaks in the still sweet morn Apart and alone; Then shall the secret of love be told, The mystery known.
The Lord gives a tenfold Honour to the Soul.
The mouth of the Lord has spoken, Hath spoken a mighty word; My sinful heart it has broken, Yet sweeter I never heard. "You, you are, O soul, My deep desire, And My love's eternal bliss; You are the rest where leans My breast, And My mouth's most holy kiss. You are the treasure I sought and found, Rejoicing over thee; I dwell in you, and with you I am crowned, And you now dwell in Me. You are joined to Me, O My own, for ever, And nearer you cannot be; Shall aught on earth or in heaven sever Myself from Me?"
Between God and the Soul only Love.
'Twixt God and you but love shall be, 'Twixt earth and you distrust and fear, 'Twixt sin and you shall be hate and war, And hope shall be 'twixt heaven and thee, Till night is o'er.
How God makes the Soul to be Free and Wise in His Love.
My love, My dove, your feet are red, Your wings are strong, your mouth is sweet, Your eyes are fair, erect your head, Beside the waters clear you tread, Your flight is far and fleet.
O Lord, the Blood that had ransomed me Has dyed my feet; With Your faithfulness my wings are strong, With Your Spirit my mouth is sweet. And my eyes are fair with the light of God, And safe in Your shelter I lift my head, And beside the waters of life I tread, I follow where You have trod; And my flight is swift, for Your love has need Of me, Lord, even me. When from the earthly prison freed My soul shall be; Then shall she rest through the ages blest, O Lord, in You.
The Road wherein the Soul leads the Senses, and where the Soul is Free from Care.
It is a wondrous and a lofty road Wherein the faithful soul must tread; And by the seeing there the blind are led,
The senses by the soul acquaint with God. On that high path the soul is free, She knows no care nor ill, For all God wills desires she, And blessed is His will.
How the Bride casts away the Solace of Created Things, and seeks only the Comfort of God.
Thus speaks the Bride, whose feet have trod The chamber of eternal rest, The secret treasure-house of God, Where God is manifest: "Created things, arise and flee, You are but sorrow and care to me."
This wide, wide world, so rich and fair, You sure can find your solace there?
"Nay, 'neath the flowers the serpent glides, Amidst the bravery envy hides."
And is not heaven enough for thee?
"Were God not there 'twere a tomb to me."
O Bride, the saints in glory shine, Can they not fill that heart of yours?
"Nay, were the Lamb, their light, withdrawn, The saints in gloom would weep and mourn."
Can the Son of God not comfort you?
"Yea, Christ and none besides for me! For mine is a soul of noble birth, That needs more than heaven and earth;
And the breath of God must draw me in To the Heart that was riven for my sin. For the Sun of the Godhead pours His rays Through the crystal depths of His manhood's grace; And the Spirit sent by Father and Son Has filled my soul, and my heart has won; And the longing and love are past and gone, For all that is less than God alone - God only, sweet to this heart of mine - O wondrous death that is life divine!"
Of Love, the Handmaiden of the Soul, and of the Soul whom Love has Smitten.
Of old, belovèd damsel, My handmaid you would be; But your ways are strange and wondrous, You have chased and captured me. You have wounded me right sore, You have smitten me amain, And I know that never more Can my heart be whole again. Can the hand that has wounded heal? Or slay, if no balm there be? Else had it been for my weal You were all unknown to me.
"I chased you, for so was my will; I captured you, for my need; I bound you, and bind you still, For I would not have you freed; I wounded you sore, that for evermore You should live by my life alone: When I smote you, mine were you life and limb; I drave the Almighty God from His throne, Of the life of His manhood despoiled I Him. I brought Him back in glorious might
To the Father in heaven's eternal light; And you, poor worm, should you go free, As if my hand had not smitten thee?"
Be in Suffering a Lamb, a Dove, and a Bride.
You are My Lamb in patience dumb, My Dove in sighing for Me, My Bride in waiting till I shall come In the day that is to be.
Of the Two Golden Chalices of Sorrow and of Comfort.
I, slothful sinner that I am, knelt down at my hour of prayer, and it seemed to me as if God were unwilling to give me the least measure of His grace. Then would I have wept and mourned, because of my sinful desires; for it seemed to me that they were the hindrance to my spiritual gladness.
But no, said my soul, think rather of the faithfulness of God, and praise Him for His goodness. Glory be to God in the highest!
And as I praised, there shone a great light into my soul; and in the light, God showed Himself to me in great majesty, and in unspeakable glory. And it was as if He held up in His hands two golden chalices, and both were full of living wine. In the left hand was the red wine, the wine of sorrow, and in the right hand the most holy consolation. Then the Lord said, "There are some who drink of this wine alone, although I pour out both in My divine love. Yet the golden wine is in itself the noblest, and most noble are those who drink of both, the red wine and the golden."
The Working of Blessed Love.
It were bitterer than death to me if ever I did what is good, without God.
This is the nature of the great love which is of God. She does not flow forth in tears, but burns in the great fire of heavenly glory. And thus she spreads to the farthest distances, and yet remains in herself steadfast and still. She
rises up into the nearest converse with God, and remains in herself in the lowest measure. She grasps the most, and retains the least.
O blessed Love, who are they who know you? They are those through whom the light of God glows and burns. They dwell not in themselves. The more they are tried, the stronger they grow. Why so? Because the longer they are in conflict, yet abiding in love, the more glorious is God to their souls, and the more do they see themselves to be unworthy and vile.
Why so? Because the greater the love, the greater is holy fear; and the fuller the comfort, the stronger the dread of sin. The loving soul does not fear with terror, but she fears nobly. There are two things over which I cannot mourn enough - one is, that God is so forgotten in the world; the other, that His people are so imperfect. Therefore many fall, because the godly have fallen before them.
How God speaks to the Soul in Three Places.
In the first of these places the devil also speaks, which he cannot do in the other two.
The first place is the mind of man, and this stands open not to God only, but to the devil and to all creatures, who enter in as they will, and hold converse with the soul through the mind.
The second place in which God speaks, is in the soul itself. And into the soul none can enter but God only. When God speaks to the soul, it is without the aid of the senses. It is in a mighty, strong, and swift communication, in a speech the mind cannot comprehend, unless the mind is so humbled as to take the lowest place amongst created things.
The third place where God speaks with the soul is in heaven, when God draws the soul up thrtr, and brings her into His secret place, where He shows her all His wonders.
Of False Love.
All, who do not in all things cleave to the truth of God, must fall with bitter loss. For love, which has not humility for her mother, and holy fear for her father, will be a barren love. Matilda's Faith.
Thus far in the five first books of Matilda's writings can we trace the history of her soul before she found her last refuge in the convent of Hellfde.
Preger's remarks are valuable as showing how Matilda, in expressions which she borrowed from the common stock of the writings of the mystics, as well as in expressions of her own, might appear to have wandered into the regions of Pantheism. That she herself attached a meaning to these expressions, which those who were simply mystics, and not believers in Christ as their Saviour, could not understand, seems, however, clear. But the expressions were open to the danger of being thus misunderstood. To those who were mystics, and nothing more, intercourse with God was a vague sentiment; and what they called the love of God, was merely a name given to their own human thoughts of God, the God of their imagination.
But Matilda insisted strongly on the truth, that there is no way to God but through the Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners. That otherwise all communication between the soul and God is cut off, "the bolt fastened by Adam" holding fast the door between God and men.
In speaking of some (no doubt the "Brethren of the Free Spirit"), she mentions as the greatest sin, and as the highest degree of unbelief, that "men should think to enter into the presence of the eternal God, passing by the holy Manhood of our Lord Jesus Christ. When such people imagine themselves to have entered into communication with the being of God, they enter instead into eternal condemnation. And yet by that means they intend to become holier than others. They set at nought and deride the words of God, which are written regarding the Manhood of our Lord."
Thus to an unbelieving mystic, the term "union with God" was familiar, and meant nothing better than the dreams of a Buddhist. But to Matilda, though she did not, and no doubt could not, clearly define it, the truth was revealed, expressed in so few words in the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians, where, with reference to Christ and the Church, it is written, "He that loves his wife loves himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourishes it and cherishes it, even as the Lord the Church: for we are members of His body, of His flesh, and of His bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined to his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the Church." And again, in 1 Cor. 12:12, "As the body is one, and has many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ ."
That this truth, taught so plainly in many passages of Scripture, notably by the Lord Himself in the one word which smote the heart of Paul, "Why do you persecute Me ?" was the truth Matilda believed, seems to be clear. But she was apt to use, when speaking of it, the stereotyped expression "union with God," not perceiving that this is untrue, and incapable of being symbolised, as in Ephesians, by the figure of Adam and Eve. It is not Christ as God, but as the second Adam, who is there symbolised.
Many such incorrect expressions may, no doubt, be found now in modern Protestant books.
Preger further remarks, "If we would describe religious life, as shown in Matilda, by its distinctive features, we should remark, in the first place, that she is seeking after a consciousness, or is, in fact, conscious of being in immediate intercourse with God. Whilst the majority of her contemporaries knew of no relation with God, except through culture or learning, or the medium of saints, or the ordinances of the Church, and were satisfied to know no more, Matilda looked on all these things merely as helps to personal and immediate communion with God. This alone could satisfy her.
"And further, she was aware that into this communion with God she could only be brought through God's free grace. And only by free grace could
she retain it. It is true she speaks of human merit, and alludes to the intercession of Mary, but in so doing was rather expressing the ruling thoughts of her age than her own innermost convictions. For it is only in speaking of others that she admits the merit of human works; she has another law for herself, finding, as she says, no peace in the good works of the saints, 'and as for me, unhappily I have no good works to find peace in.'
"The important matter with regard to Matilda's faith is this - she grounds her peace not on imparted, but on imputed righteousness. 'It is a fathomless mystery,' she says, 'that God can look on a sinner as a converted man.'
"But in spite of this evangelical tendency in her writings, we cannot but receive the impression that in the heights of her communion with God she at times loses the safe path. The reason of this is, that the subordinate place which she gives to all relations between God and men by Church ordinances is also given more or less to the knowledge of God by means of the written Word. It does not appear to be the ring in which her new life is set; it would seem as though she endeavoured to soar above it, in order to assure herself more firmly of her state of grace by immediate communications from God to her soul.
"Therefore she seems in some passages to regard the written Word and the Divine Word spoken to her as distinct, and on the same level. Thus, as in mysticism generally, the safe path is lost, and the soul is cast forth on the wide sea of subjective self-consciousness.
"We feel the warning of this danger, and the need of a safer path, in which the security of Divine teaching is ours. This can only be when the written Word is the seed of Divine knowledge, and the faculties of man the ground in which the seed takes root."
So far Preger. It may also be remarked, that whilst Matilda evidently grounded her salvation and enjoyment of God on the atoning work of Christ, she does not allude to it very frequently. We must remember that amongst all the errors of mediæval Catholicism, the blood-shedding of
Christ was still regarded as the means by which sin was expiated. It was still an article of faith, though disfigured, and often kept out of sight by all that man had added to the Scriptures.
Matilda, therefore, regarded it as an understood necessity in Christian faith, and as not demanding frequent assertion or proof. Had she lived in our days it might have been otherwise.
That "Christ once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God," was a truth known and believed amongst the "Friends of God," Catholic or Waldensian. That "it is the Blood that makes atonement for the soul," that "without shedding of Blood there is no remission ," that on Christ, the Lamb who was slain, did "the Lord lay the iniquity of us all," they knew, and rejoiced to know. However overlaid in Roman Catholicism by the teaching of human merit, and of the mediation and intercession of the saints, this truth was preserved through God's great mercy in the corruption of the Church. It may be found yet as the anchor of the soul in the confession of faith of many who know little of the doctrines of their Church, but who do know from their service-books that "Christ died for our sins."
The three have ever borne witness on earth, the Spirit, the Water, and the Blood, and these three agree in one - a witness never silenced through the darkest ages of the Church.
It was during the last years of Matilda's life that she wrote for "the children of the world" a call to Christ.
Would you, sinner, be converted? Christ, the Lord of glory, see By His own denied, deserted, Bleeding, bound, and scourged for you. Look again, O soul, behold Him On the cross uplifted high; See the precious life-blood flowing, See the tears that dim His eye. Love has pierced the heart that brake,
Loveless sinner, for your sake: Hearken till your heart is broken To His cry so sad and sweet; Hearken to the hammer smiting Nails that pierce His hands and feet. See the side whence flows the fountain Of His love and life divine, Riven by a hand unthankful - Lo! that hand is yours. See the crown of thorns adorning God's belovèd holy Son, Then fall down in bitter mourning, Weep for what you have done. Thank Him that His heart was willing So to die for love to you; Thank Him for the joy that makes This world's joy but gall to be. And till you in heaven adore Him Fight for Him in knightly guise; Joy in shame and toil and sorrow, Glorious is the prize!
The Echo of the Book.
Matilda had a friend, called Jutta von Sangershausen. A relation of hers, Anno von Sangershausen, was the Grand-Master of the Teutonic Order of Knights. Other members of the family had offered their services to the order in defence of their country from the invasions of the heathen Prussians.
Jutta's husband had died on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Her children entered various convents. Jutta then joined herself to the Béguines, and was employed for a time in nursing the sick, especially those afflicted with leprosy. In the year 1260 she determined to go forth as a missionary amongst the Prussians. She took up her abode in a forest near Culm, where she lived as a hermitess, making known the faith of Christ by word and example.
Matilda for a time resolved to go also as a missionary to the heathen. But she was now growing old, and worn out by labours and persecutions. It was evident that she no longer had the needful strength. She was grieved to the heart that she could not thus make Christ known, and she laid the matter before the Lord.
He consoled her, and showed her that as He had sent Jutta to the heathen, so had He also given her His message, which should be sent far and wide in the book which she was writing.
And so it proved, as her book was widely known and read for a considerable time after her death. Even now it may be that the words so lately brought to light in the convent of Einsiedeln may lead some weary souls to Christ. And still the reflection of the light which shone into the heart of Matilda shines forth more faintly in the poem known and read through so many ages, and in so many lands - the great poem of Dante.
It is now more than seventy years ago that a young man travelling in Italy employed himself at Venice in reading the Divine Commedia , for the sake of learning Italian. He had cared till then for the things of this world only, but he left Venice with the first beginning of a love which was to shape his long life, and make him the means of life to many.
It was from the poem of Dante, he said, that he had first learnt to know Christ as his Saviour. He may be known to many as the writer of the hymn so often sung -
"A pilgrim through this lonely world The blessed Saviour passed; A mourner all His life was He, A dying Lamb at last" -
a distant echo of Matilda's voice sounding in many places still.
What was it that Dante learnt, or believed that he learnt, from the lady whose joyful singing sounded to him across the river of forgetfulness, whose eyes shone with a light greater than that of earthly love?
She explained to him her joy by the words of that psalm, the ninetysecond, which forms a key-note to the poems of the Béguine Matilda, of her to whom the Lord had taught "the song and the music of heaven," whom He had made glad through His work, who triumphed in the work of His hands.
It was in the work "wrought in the land of the Jews," the great work that "loosed the bolt with which Adam had barred the heavenly door," that Matilda the Béguine rejoiced, showing forth the Lord's loving kindness in the morning, and his faithfulness every night - the work which "the brutish man knows not, neither does the fool understand it," for "the preaching of the Cross is foolishness to those who perish," "the foolishness of God that is wiser than men."
In the work which brought her into the "sweet garden of Paradise," where she was no more a stranger, which had won for her the right to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God, and to pluck the flowers, which were hers, because they were Christ's.
It may truly be said that if there is anything distinctive in the writing of Matilda the Béguine, it is that she wrote from her own experience of the gladness of the heavenly place, revealed to her whilst yet in the body on the earth. She had learnt that there is an "earthly Paradise," earthly not because it is of the earth, but because it is a foretaste and earnest of the heavenly, given to those who are still pilgrims on the earth.
To reach it the river had to be crossed, wherein the old things pass away, and all things become new; where the things that are behind are forgotten, and the things that are before become the possession, by faith, of the redeemed soul. Her sins were amongst the forgotten things, for God remembered them no more, and the sorrow of the earth was forgotten, swallowed up in the tide of eternal joy, and
"The longing and love were past and gone, For all that is less than God alone."
Thus, in the poem of Dante, Matelda draws him through the water of the river at the moment when the remembrance of his sin had stung him at the heart, so that he fell overpowered and helpless and ashamed. It needed that the sin should be left behind amongst the former things that had passed away.
Those who have known the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, the Fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness, will gladly own that this is the true Christian experience of the saints of God - the land of Canaan beyond the river, reached and entered before the warfare and the trial of faith are over; the Father's house become a familiar place before the murmuring of the self-righteous is for ever silenced.
Did Dante know it as the Béguine knew it? Was it in his case but a vague sense of a place of joy and beauty which the soul might find on this side of heaven? Did he know that the river was a river of death - the death which is the death of deaths, "in the land of the Jews" so long ago?
We cannot know. It needs the simple faith of those who have become fools that they may be wise. Then does the garden of the Lord become a blessed reality, no dreamland, but an eternal inheritance.
The Béguine had seen by faith her name engraved on the pierced Hands and Feet of Christ. Should she not rejoice and sing? Should she not praise Him that He was wounded for her transgressions, that He was bruised for her iniquities, that the chastisement of her peace was on Him, that by His stripes she was healed? And thus she knew that her "robe was white, for Christ's was white, and brighter than the sun."
How far this was the experience of Dante, his poem does not tell us. But he knew that there was an earthly Paradise, and it seems all but certain that in Matilda's book he had found one who was rejoicing there with unspeakable joy.
The remarks of Preger in his lecture on Dante's Matelda confirm the thought that this is the true key to his description of the beautiful lady, whose appearance formed the great era in his spiritual life. The song
taken from the words of the fifty-first Psalm, "Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow," the introduction into the knowledge of heavenly things, are but an echo of the songs of the Béguine. But the heavenly things of Dante are far more clouded with the evil teaching of his age than the heavenly experiences of Matilda of Magdeburg. The glory of the Catholic Church, rather than the glory of Christ, is the light that lightens his heavenly Paradise. It was the Lamb who was the light of Matilda's heaven. In the bewildering medley of Catholic and heathen mythologies in Dante's poem, it is only here and there that a gleam of the true light can make its way. But Matilda the Béguine rose above the clouds and mists of man's imagination, and she saw Jesus.
Preger refers us to the ordinary explanation of Matelda and Beatrice; namely, that like Leah and Rachel in mediæval theology, they represent the life of action and the life of contemplation.
This theory as regards Matelda was, as Preger observes, founded on the idea that the Countess Matilda of Tuscany was the Matelda of Dante. That the warlike countess was a fair specimen of activity, we cannot doubt; but that it had any resemblance to Christian activity, is more than doubtful. Probably the identity of name was the only foundation of this idea.
"It is true," writes Preger, "that Dante saw these two women prefigured in a dream as Leah and Rachel, and that Leah said, referring to her sister, 'Her seeing, and me doing, satisfies.' But that therefore doing and seeing are the only characteristics of these women is a conclusion to which Dante did not advance, nor need we do so. They both looked in the mirror, but Leah first crowned herself with flowers; and it was after hearing the call, 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,' that this dream presented itself to Dante."
Matelda, who corresponds to Leah in the dream, conducts Dante into the earthly Paradise, and the place accords with the guide. She was not yet in heaven, the working-day was not yet over, but Matelda was rejoicing, not in her work, but in the work of God . She was glad that the flowers of His garden were her crown of beauty.
So wrote Matilda the Béguine -
"I pluck the flowers for you; They are yours, beloved, for they are Mine, And you are one with Me."
It was a place in which the flowers of the earth had never grown, and it needed the washing which makes whiter than snow to fit the soul for that garden of God on the earth. Therefore the song which came to Dante across the river was the ancient song of the soul that is washed from sin: "Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, whose sins are covered." Virgil never crossed the river.
However clouded may have been the faith of mediæval Christendom, the need of Christ was felt. The distinction between a Christian and a heathen was acknowledged as one which told on the eternal destiny of men. By means of Christ the Saviour could the Christian man pass on, washed and sanctified, into the land beyond the river. A "land beyond," was that Paradise to men of the world of sense and of earthly knowledge, but without the knowledge of God, and of Jesus Christ, whom He has sent. And singing the song of the forgiven, whilst she made garlands of the flowers, Matelda appeared to Dante, separated from him at first by the river of forgetfulness. She drew near to him as one who dances. She spoke to him of the nature of the mysterious wind that moved the branches of the trees which grew in the land "given as the earnest of eternal peace" - the earnest whilst here on earth of heavenly things, of the flowers that grew from no earthly seed, and of the river that flows from no earthly source, and of the other river which divides the earthly Paradise from the heavenly, as the river Lethe divided it from all that was before.
And we see that Matelda is to Dante the medium of supernatural revelations, just as afterwards, Beatrice.
Matelda, then, in the earthly Paradise appears as the representative of the insight into the heavenly joy whilst still on earth, Beatrice as the beholding of it when the earthly life is past. And this knowledge of the heavenly things was to be brought back by him who had seen them whilst
still in the body, as the palm-leaves on the staff of the pilgrim who had been within the boundary of the holy land.
And it was Matelda who drew Dante through the river into that land whilst still on the earth - the land where he should hear the singing, and know the sweetness, and learn more in the Paradise here of the Paradise hereafter.
It was the earnest of the inheritance which was given to him through Matelda.
And truly this is the message and mission of the Béguine, not as Matelda's, to Dante only, but to us also, who can receive the message without the bewildering counter teaching of the corrupted Church. It is true the message, more clearly given, is in the Bible we have known so long; and it was through the blessed teaching of that Bible that Matilda the Béguine learnt it. But it is well for us not only to read the glorious promises of God, but to meet with those to whom they have been fulfilled, the sharers of the like precious faith with us, who now believe in Jesus. Now, from the holy women of Hellfde have the clouds passed away which at times hid from them the brightness of the glory, but the words of love spoken to their hearts by the mouth of their Beloved remain to them as an everlasting possession.
And are not the same words still spoken day by day to those who have ears to hear? And in the midst of this sorrowful world, is there not still a blessed company who have entered the same Paradise, and learnt the same songs, taught by the lips of Christ?
It will not render us less fit for the common earthly life, that we have been there, in the garden where the Lord God walks, and His own are not afraid. In truth, it is only those who have been there who have the healing leaves for the sick and the suffering ones around them. It is only those who see the Son, and believe on Him, who are thus brought back to the garden of the Lord, to feed on the fruit of the tree of life. And these are they who are again sent forth as His messengers into the world of man's exile.
"As My Father has sent Me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world."
Thus the Lord spake of all who believe on His Name. The message sent long ago by Matilda the Béguine has been heard again after the silence of ages, and it is once more a call to the sinful, the sorrowful, and the fearful, who have been living in ignorance of the marvellous love which is unchanged, and which answers to the great need of our age, as to that of the thirteenth century. May God the Holy Spirit open the hearts of many to hear and to rejoice.
Matilda's Last Years.
Matilda was fifty-three years old when, in the year 1265, she took refuge in the convent of Hellfde.
Gertrude von Hackeborn was not one who would refuse admission to a persecuted "Friend of God." Gertrude had now been abbess fourteen years, and was in the prime of her life and activity. Mechthild von Hackeborn, "the maiden so marvellously lovable," as they said in the convent, was then twenty-five. The little Gertrude, who was to be the brightest star amongst the sisters of Hellfde, was only nine.
But during the twelve remaining years of the life of Matilda of Magdeburg there was time enough for some good seed to be sown in the heart of Gertrude, which should one day spring up and bear much fruit.
Soon after Matilda's entrance into the convent she had a severe and painful illness. But she was tended with loving care, and found amongst her sisters of Hellfde a happy and peaceful home. She in her turn was regarded by them as an honoured teacher, and her influence made itself quickly felt.
It was at Hellfde that she wrote the two remaining books, "rich," says Preger, "in light and instruction." When she had finished the sixth book she thought that her task was done. She therefore concluded it with a word of farewell - "This book was begun in love, it shall also end in love;
for there is nought so wise, nor so holy, nor so beautiful, nor so strong, nor so perfect as love."
But afterwards Matilda felt herself led to write "more of what God had shown her," although she had prayed that she might now lay down her pen and cease from her labours.
In the last years of her life she was obliged to write by dictation, her eyes and hands having failed her. The following extracts from the last two books will show an advance in the knowledge of Him she loved, and for whom she laboured to the last.
The Labour of the Lord.
The Lord showed me in a parable what He has ever done, and will ever do, to fulfil to me the meaning of it.
I saw a poor man rise up from the ground where he was sitting. He was dressed like a workman, in common linen clothing, and he had a crowbar in his hand, which he thrust under a heavy burden that was as large as the earth.
I said to him, "Good man, what is it you are lifting?"
"I am going to lift and carry your sorrows," said he. "Try it yourself," he said; "with all your might, lift and carry."
Then I answered Him, for I knew Him, "Lord, I am so poor, I have no strength."
And He answered me, "So I taught My disciples. I said, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit.'"
And my soul spake to Him, and I said, "O Lord, it is Yourself. Turn You Your face to me that I may know You."
And He answered, "Learn to know Me inwardly."
I said, "O Lord, if I saw You amongst thousands, I could not but know You."
And then I said further, "This burden is too heavy for me."
And He answered me, "I will lay it so close to Myself, that you may easily bear it. Follow Me, and see how I stood before My Father on the Cross, sustaining all."
Then I asked Him to bless me; and He said, "I always bless you. Your sorrow shall turn to a good blessing for you."
And I said no more but this, "O Lord, come You thus to the help of all who love to suffer for You."
The Prayer of the Longing Heart.
There was one who for a long while, amidst the mercies of God, and also many sorrows, longed continually that God would release the soul and take her to Himself. And the Lord said to her, "Wait." Then did the suffering one answer, "Lord, I cannot cease from longing. Oh, how gladly would I be with You!" Then said the Lord -
"Before the worlds, O soul, I longed for you; And still I long, and you still long for Me; And when two longings meet, for ever stilled, The cup of love is filled."
Prayers.
Give me, O Lord, and take from me all that You will, and leave me but the desire to pass away to You in Your love, and to Your love. O well is me, and I thank You, King of Heaven and Son of God, that whilst I was in the world You chose me, and called me out of the world. For this I will thank You eternally. Your holy sorrow, all that You have suffered for me, is mine. Therefore all that I suffer I offer up to You, though how little is my suffering like Yours! Keep me always in Your love, that for ever I may praise You, Jesus, my most beloved; and I pray You to loosen the cords,