As with his sight my heavy heart might cheer; Then should I love mine eyes for such a seeing, Without which sight they joy not in their being.

Let me then seek where I may hope to see
The only substance of my joying sight;

And never rest, nor ever weary be,

Until I come unto that star of light,

Which may direct my heart and spirit right,

Unto that place, where gracious love will show

My soul his presence, that it loveth so.

To climb to heaven it is too high a place;

Sin weighs me down to love, to seek him there:

For hell, it is unworthy of such grace;

And for the world, my sorrow, witness bear

It is not worthy of his name to hear:

Then since nor here nor there, without all doubt Within the grave I must go seek him out.

Oh! ground, more gracious than the world besides,
Which dost enclose that, all the world commands:

And blessed earth, that in thy centre hides
His corpse, for whom my weeping soul demands:
Tell me, oh heavens! into what holy hands

He is convey'd, and where he now may be,
Whom thus my heart with tears desires to see?

Thus weeping still, two angels did appear,
Who, as it seem'd, desirous for to know

The mournful cause of this her mourning cheer,
Wherefore she wept, and what she sought for so?
Briefly she thus her grief began to show---

(Wringing her hands, with many a bitter tear,) Her Lord was stol'n, and laid she knew not where.

"O, blessed angels! blessed as ye be,

Tell me---where is my highest bliss become?

Your Lord and mine, oh! tell me, where is He

May cheer the heart that sorrow doth benumb? Starve not my tears, vouchsafe my soul one crumb Of comfort's care---to let me truly know Where is my Lord, that I lament for so?

"But do ye ask me, whom I seek for so?
Or why I weep, because I cannot find him?
O heavenly creature! help my soul to know.
But where he is, that I may come behind him,
That he may know but how my love doth mind him.
If dead---I may unto his tomb restore him;
And if alive---I may on knees adore him.

"Oh, happy gardener of this holy ground!
Blest art thou born, if thou hast lived to see
That blessed body where it may be found,
That here lay buried:---tell me, if thou be

Sent from my Lord, to come and comfort me?
Who hence hath stol'n the substance of my bliss,
And where bestow'd that holy corps of his?

"But do you ask me, why I weep so much?
And what I seek?---I seek my soul's delight!
And weep, because I find not any such
As can direct me to so sweet a sight:
This is the cause of my heart's heavy plight.

Oh! tell me then, and put me out of doubt,
Dead or alive, where I may find him out?”

Thus while her eyes continual weeping kept,

Came Christ himself, (although a while unknown)
Who ask'd her--- What she sought, and why she wept?'

She, as before unto the angels shown,

Began in tears to make her piteous moan--

"Her Lord was stol'n, and borne she knew not whither;

But, if he knew, he would direct her thither."

But while the Lord of all her life and love
Beheld her tears, the witness of her truth,

To make her faith in heavenly favour prove

The sweet reward of mercy's sacred ruth,
And know what life of such a love ensueth,

Spake but one word, but that word was so sweet,
As would have made her soul to kiss his feet.

"Mary!" quoth he: "Oh, Master! blessed voice,
From which my heart receives so sweet a sound,
As makes my soul in ravish'd joy rejoice,

To think to live, that I my Lord have found:
Oh! let my sins be in my tears so drown'd,
That in my joys my soul be ever weeping,
To have thy presence in my comfort's keeping.

"I will not press one foot beyond the line
Of thy love's leave: vouchsafe me but a look
Of that sweet, heavenly, holy eye of thine,
Of my dear love the ever-living book,
Wherein my tears have such true comfort took,
That, let the world torment me ne'er so sore,
Let me see thee---and I desire no more!

"Oh, sight more precious than tongue can express!
Wherein the eye doth comfort so the heart,
The heart the soul, and all in their distress
Do find an ease and end of every smart:

When eye, and heart, and soul, and every part
Conclude in joy, that comfort did begin,---
Better to weep in grace than laugh in sin."

And, with that word she vanish'd so away,

As if that no such woman there had been:
But yet, methought, her weeping seem'd to say,
The spirit was of Mary Magdalen;

Whose body now, although not to be seen,

Yet, by her speech it seemed, it was she

That wish'd all women might such Weepers be.