To Thee, O living God, my being yearns,
For Thee my soul consumes, my spirit burns.

Within Thy chosen people's hearts Thy glory
Inhabits, be they babes or fathers hoary,

To bind Thy chosen to Thy chariot wheels.
And with the radiance that Thee conceals

I fill my heart and make for my delight
A lampstand set beside me in the night.

The wisest weary them to comprehend
Thy mystery, then how should I ascend

The secret of Thy glorious shrine to tell?
Thy shining semblance is unsearchable.

Then let my craving to my own soul turn
To find the wealth divine for which I yearn.

For Wisdom's house is as of sapphires builded,
Her pavement as with gold of Ophir gilded.

Within the body is her hidden lair,
Like a young lion she is couchant there.

She is my bliss and joy in lamentation,
She is my thinking cap of meditation.

What man dare all her beauty's praises sum,
Or be to her perfections wholly dumb?

Answer her swiftly, God of grace above,
For she is sick with longing for Thy love.

'Gently, dear damsel, sip salvation's water,
For thou, most dazzling maiden, art My daughter.'