Song of Solomon 8:13

My sweet Lord Jesus remembers well the garden of Gethsemane, and although he has left that garden, he now dwells in the garden of his church: there he opens his heart to those who keep his blessed company. That voice of love with which he speaks to his beloved is more musical than the harps of heaven.

There is a depth of melodious love within it which leaves all human music far behind. Tens of thousands on earth, and millions above, are indulged with its harmonious accents. Some whom I well know, and whom I greatly envy, are at this moment listening to the beloved voice. Oh, if only I could share in their joys!

It is true some of these are poor, others bedridden, and some near the gates of death, but Oh my Lord, I would cheerfully starve with them, pine with them, or die with them, if I might but hear your voice. Once I did hear it often, but I have grieved your Spirit.

Return to me in compassion, and once again say to me, I am thy salvation. No other voice can content me; I know your voice, and cannot be deceived by another. Let me hear it, I ask you. I do not know what you will say, nor do I make any condition; Oh my Beloved, just let me hear you speak, and if it is a rebuke, I will bless you for it.

Perhaps to cleanse my dull ear may need an operation very grievous to the flesh, but let it cost what it may, I will not turn from the one consuming desire: cause me to hear your voice. Bore my ear afresh; pierce my ear with your harshest notes, only do not permit me to continue deaf to your calls.

Tonight, Lord, grant your unworthy one his desire, for I am yours, and you have bought me with your blood. You have opened my eye to see you, and the sight has saved me. Lord, open my ear. I have read your heart; now let me hear your lips.