The honeycomb were naught to this!
'Twere bliss fast bound to Christ for aye,
But in these joys is little stay.
This love with ceaseless ardour burns,
How wondrous sweet no stranger learns;
But tasted once, the enraptured wight,
Is filled with ever new delight.
Now I behold what most I sought;
Fulfilled at last my longing thought;
Lovesick, my soul to Jesus turns,