than all Thy heavenly kingdom."

And Divine Love makes answer: "Sweet Dove, now list to me. Thy secret
seeking must needs find me, thy heart's distress must needs compel me,
thy loving pursuit has so wearied me, that I long to cool myself in
thy pure soul in the which I am imprisoned. The throbbing sighs of thy
sore heart have driven my justice from thee. All is right between me
and thee. I cannot be sundered from thee. However far we are parted,
never can we be separated. I cause thee extreme pain of body. If I
gave myself to thee as oft as thou wouldst, I should thus deprive
myself of the sweet shelter I have in thee in this world."

Again the soul cries out--but now discomfited by the Divine Love from
whose tireless quest there is no escape--"Thou hast pursued and
captured and bound me, and hast wounded me so deeply that never shall
I be healed. Thou hast given me many a hard blow. Tell me, shall I
ever get whole from Thee? Shall I not be slain by Thee? Thus would it
have been better for me if that I had never known Thee."

Then answers Love: "That I pursued thee gave me delight. That I made
thee captive was my desire. That I bound thee was my joy. When I
wounded thee, then did I become one with thee. Thus I give thee hard
blows so that I may be possessed of thee. I drove Almighty God from
His heavenly kingdom, and took from Him His mortal life, and have
restored Him with honour to His Father. How canst thou, poor worm,
save thyself from me?"

Of all Mechthild's visions, there is none that seems to reach a
greater height of supreme beauty than that in which the loving soul
learns the way to its Divine Lover. It is strangely reminiscent of
courtly life and courtly poetry, translated into the ecstatic state,
and etherealised into the very perfume of spirituality as the soul
becomes one with God. Having passed the distress of repentance, the
pain of confession, and the labour of penance, and having overcome the
love of the World, the tempting of the Devil, and its own self-will,
the soul, weary, and longing for her Divine Lover and God, cries out:
"Beautiful Youth, I long for thee. Where shall I find thee?"

Then says the youth: "I hear a voice which speaks somewhat of love.
Many days have I wooed her, but never have I heard her voice. Now I am
moved. I must go to meet her. She it is who bears grief and love
together. In the morning in the dew is the most intimate rapture which
first penetrates the soul."

Then s