Aestimavit hortulanum

As the Gardener, Him addressing,
Well and rightly she believ'd :
He, the Sower, gave His blessing
To the seed her heart receiv'd :
Not at first His Form confessing,
Soon His Voice her soul perceiv'd.

She beheld, as yet not knowing
In the mystical disguise,
Christ, That in her breast was sowing
Deep and heavenly mysteries :
Till His Voice, her name bestowing,
Bade her hear and recognize.

She to Jesus, Jesus weepeth,
Of her Lord removed complains ;
Jesus in her breast she keepeth ;
Jesus seeks, yet still retains :
He That soweth, He That reapeth
All her heart, unknown remains.

Why, kind Jesu, why thus hiding,
When Thyself Thou would'st reveal ?
Why, in Mary's breast abiding,
From her love Thyself conceal ?
Why, True Light, in her residing,
Can she not Its radiance feel ?

Oh, how strangely Thou eludest
Souls that on Thee have believ'd !
But eluding, ne'er deludest,
Nor deceiv'st, nor art deceiv'd ;
But including, still excludest ;
Fully known, yet not perceiv'd.

Laud to Thee and praise for ever,
Life, Hope, Light of every soul !
Through Thy merits may we never
Be inscribed in Death's dark roll,
But with Mary's true endeavour
All our sins, like her, condole ! Amen.