Who sees Thee not, never
saw anything; and who is not sensible of Thee, never was sensible of
anything. He is as if he were not. His whole life is but a dream.
Arise, O Lord, arise. Let Thy enemies melt like wax and vanish like
smoke before Thy face. How unhappy is the impious soul who, far
from Thee, is without God, without hope, without eternal comfort!
How happy he who searches, sighs, and thirsts after Thee! But fully
happy he on whom are reflected the beams of Thy countenance, whose
tears Thy hand has wiped off, and whose desires Thy love has already
completed. When will that time be, O Lord? O Fair Day, without
either cloud or end, of which Thyself shalt be the sun, and wherein
Thou shalt run through my soul like a torrent of delight? Upon this
pleasing hope my bones shiver, and cry out:--"Who is like Thee, O
Lord? My heart melts and my flesh faints, O God of my soul, and my
eternal wealth."
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