[Jacopone da Todi, O Amor, devino amore, “Laude”, XXXIX, 13th century.]
O Love, divine Love,
That asks for no reward!
O Love, O Love, Thy tender amity
Is full of joy and gladness,
And into grief and sadness
That heart shall never fall that tasteth Thee.
O Love, O Love, Thou dearest art and best:
Love that with fire consumes,
Yet safeguards and illumes
The heart that houseth Thee, beloved Guest.
Dulcet as honeyed stings those wounds must be,
Sweet wounds of rapture bright,
All joy, and all delight,—
The wounds of him whose heart is pierced by Thee!
Love, Thou didst enter very softly in
To hold this heart of mine.
No sound, no stir, no sign!
How couldst Thou cross my threshold all unseen?
O Love adorable, with sweetness fraught,
O Love delectable,
Love inconceivable,
Outstripping knowledge and surpassing thought!
O Love, Thou fire divine, of laughter spun;
Love that art smile and jest,
Thou giv'st us of Thy best,
Thy wealth unmeasured that is never done.
Where wilt Thou enter, Love, and make Thy home I
The lowly and the poor
May draw Thee through their door:
To lords of high estate Thou wilt not come.
All such Thou setst not at a farthing's fee;
Like straw where reapers bind,
Thou givest them to the wind,
They get no promise and no pledge from Thee.
Science is vain, and knowledge but a cheat:
He who by learning's skill
Would hold Thee at his will,
His heart shall never taste Thy savour sweet.
For store of science is a deadly dart;
'Twill slay herself at length,
Save if she clothe her strength
In the fair garment of an humble heart.
Thy mastery, O Love, can softly steal
Deep-hid desires to reach,
The Gospel's lore to teach,
And stamp the heart with Thine all-powerful seal.
O Love, forever glowing and aflame,
Kindle Thy warriors' hearts,
And turn their tongues to darts,
To pierce each soul that hears Thy sacred name.
O Love, with Thee doth all delight abide;
Love, that most gracious art,
Love, sweetest to the heart,
The heart whose longings Thou hast satisfied.
Love, Thou dost teach us, and Thy gentle skill
Gains all that God hath given,
Maps out the path to Heaven,
Keeps it a pledge forever by His will.
Love, faithful Comrade, change mine evil state;
Blot out my sinful years.
And bathe my soul in tears,
Yea, floods of tears, my sins to expiate.
O sweet and gentle Love, Thou art the key
Of heaven's city and fort:
Steer Thou my ship to port,
And from the tempest's fury shelter me.
Love, Giver of light to all that fain would shine,
Thy light alone is bright,
There beams none other light,
Save with a sullen glow that is not Thine.
Thou light, so vivid and so luminous,
Thy lover cannot know
Pure radiance, steadfast glow,
Save in Thy rays, that lighten all of us.
O Love, Thy keen and piercing brilliancy
Illumes and guides the mind
That Object fair to find,
—The end and aim of all her fervency.
O Love, Thine ardours pure and passionate
Wake and inflame the heart,
To dwell no more apart,
With the Adored made One and incarnate.
Love, Thou art life, in certain safety set,
Eternal art Thou there;
Thou art wealth, unspoilt by care,
And measureless beyond our utmost debt.
Love, all things that have form arc formed by Thee;
And man, whose form is bent
In vile disfigurement,
Thou dost re-form in Thine own majesty.
O Love, how stainless and how pure Thou art!
How jocund and how wise,
How high, how deep Thy guise,
To him who gives Thee gladly all his heart!
Love, that art bountiful and courteous,
Great gifts Thou dost divide,
Thy table's long and wide:
How welcome is Thy servant in Thy house!
Chase luxury, of foulness redolent,
Far forth from out my mind;
Leave chastity behind,
To bloom, and purity for ornament.
Love, it was Thou Thyself that didst inspire
My heart to love Thee first;
—An-hungered and athirst,
Thy lover longed, with very great desire.
O Love divine, Thou that art charity,
Thy medicine giveth ease;
Thou healest all disease,
Yea, all—though fierce and terrible it be.
O stammering, trembling tongue, so far astray
How dost thou dare to speak,
So bold, and yet so weak?
Of this strange state what words hast thou to say?
Now think, for all that thou hast said is vain,
Of Love, so fair, so blest:
—Imperfect and distrest
Is every tongue, to make that secret plain.
If all the tongues of angels strove to tell
—Yea, all the heavenly choir—
Of Love, and of His fire,
Even their tongues would stammer and rebel.
Then art not thou ashamed, Love's praise to sing?
Thou wrongest Him with thy speech,
—So high thou canst not reach,
Thou who didst once blaspheme fair Love thy King.
The Tongue saith:
Nay, how can I obey thee and be mute?
For silence would be death;
And while I draw my breath
Of love I still must sing, and of love's fruit.
My season's changed, love's tempests o'er me blow;
Reason, no more my guide,
Her baffled head must hide,
And I must shout and cry, my love to show.
The heart, the tongue, must song and clamour make:
"Love, love, O love!"—they cry;
Of thy sweet ecstasy
He that is silent, sure his heart will break.
For he that tastes Thy sweetness, well I wot,
His heart may break indeed,
And in its sorest need
May stifle, if to love he clamour not.
