like a snow-flake, meltUpon His light-sphere’s keen circumference!

Eliz. Hast thou felt this?

Guta. In part.

Eliz. Oh, happy Guta!Mine eyes are dim—and what if I mistookFor God’s own self, the phantoms of my brain?And who am I, that my own will’s intentShould put me face to face with the living God?I, thus thrust down from the still lakes of thoughtUpon a boiling crater-field of labour.No! He must come to me, not I to Him;If I see God, beloved, I must see HimIn mine own self:—

Guta. Thyself?

Eliz. Why start, my sister?God is revealed in the crucified:The crucified must be revealed in me:—I must put on His righteousness; show forthHis sorrow’s glory; hunger, weep with Him;Writhe with His stripes, and let this aching fleshSink through His fiery baptism into death,That I may rise with Him, and in His likenessMay ceaseless heal the sick, and soothe the sad,And give away like Him this flesh and bloodTo feed His lambs—ay—we must die with HimTo sense—and love—

Guta. To love? What then becomesOf marriage vows?

Eliz. I know it—so speak not of them.Oh! that’s the flow, the chasm in all my longings,Which I have spanned with cobweb arguments,Yet yawns before me still, where’er I turn,To bar me from perfection; had I givenMy virgin all to Christ! I was not worthy!I could not stand alone!

Guta. Here comes your husband.

Eliz. He comes! my sun! and every thrilling veinProclaims my weakness.

[Lewis enters.]

Lewis. Good news, my Princess; in the street belowConrad, the man of God from Marpurg, standsAnd from a bourne-stone to the simple folkDoes thunder doctrine, preaching faith, repentance,And dread of all foul heresies; his eyesOn heaven still set, save when with searching frownHe lours upon the crowd, who round him cowerLike quails beneath the hawk, and gape, and tremble,Now raised to heaven, now down again to hell.I stood beside and heard; like any doe’sMy heart did rise and fall.

Eliz. Oh, let us hear him!We too need warning; shame, if we let pass,Unentertained, God’s angels on their way.Send for him, brother.

Lewis. Let a knight go downAnd say to the holy man, the Landgrave LewisWith humble greetings prays his blessednessTo make these secular walls the spirit’s templeAt least 

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