So thou dost stand before my spirit's eye, Joy-giver of all worlds. My spirit's strength Doth feel creative joy, when I behold Thee as the fruit of self-experience. Within the temple to my spirit's eye Once didst thou show thyself, yet at that time I knew not whether dream or truth appeared. But now the scales have fallen from mine eyes, Which kept the spirit's light concealed from me: I know now that thou really dost exist. I will reveal thy nature in my deeds; And they shall work salvation through thy power. To Benedictus too I owe deep thanks: Through wisdom hath he given me the strength To turn my spirit's sight unto thy world.
Feel me in thy soul-depths, and bear my power To all the worlds. Thus, serving Love's behests Thou shalt experience true blessedness.
I feel thy presence through its warming light; I feel creative power arise in me.
He hath departed: but he will return And give me strength from out the springs of love. His light can disappear but for awhile; Then, in its own existence, it lives on. I can resign myself unto my Self, And feel Love's very self in mine own soul: By Love uplifted I can feel my Self: Love shall through me reveal himself to man.
(He grows uncertain, as is gradually made manifest by his gestures.)
Yet how shall I experience myself? It seems some spirit-being draweth near. Since I was counted worthy to receive The spirit's sight, I feel it ever thus, When evil powers desire to seize on me. Yet, come what may, I have strength to resist; For I can feel myself within my Self; Which quickening words give strength invincible. Yet now most strong resistance do I feel: Well may it be the fiercest of all foes: But let him come, for he will find me armed.
Thou foe of Good; 'tis surely thine own self! For near me I can feel thy potent strength. I know thou dost desire to rend in twain Whate'er has wrenched itself from thy control. But I shall strengthen in me that new strength, Wherein thou canst have neither part nor lot.
O Benedictus, fount of my new life! It is not possible. It cannot be. Nay, nay, it cannot be thyself. Thou art Some vain illusion. Oh, revive in me Ye good powers of my soul, and straightway crush This phantom image, that would mock at me!