Lodgers we who on Thy threshold dwell,
and nightingales that in Thy garden sing,
whether we leave Thy door, or waiting stand,
of only Thee we speak, of Thee we hear.
Since we are captives caught within Thy nets,
where shall we trust our passion of our heads?
And since in Thy affection we draw breath,
how shall we yearn for strangers? Lo, we lay
our heads upon the threshold of Thy door,
waiting to come to Thee. Since we have quaffed
the beaker of Thy love, we yield our hearts
and make our Lives Thy ransom: since we come
again into Thy street, we turn our backs
on all that is, save Thee. Our souls are bound
to serve Thee, though in grief, and we have died
to selfhood! We are captives of Thy love
and have not strength to flee. Thy beauty's fever
hat lit a flame: shall not our hearts be burned?