‘Let us go a journey,’ Quoth my soul to my mind, ‘Past the plains of darkness Is a house to find Where for my thirsting I shall have my fill, And from my torment I shall be still.’
‘Let us go a journey,’ Quoth my mind to my heart, ‘Past the hills of questing, By our ghostly art, We shall see the high worlds, Holy and clear, Moving in their order Without hate or fear.’
‘Let us go a journey,’ Quoth my heart to my soul, ‘I shall thrive never On the world’s dole. Past the streams of cleansing Shall a house be found Where the peace and healing For my aching wound.’
By the streams of cleansing, By the hill of quest, By the plains of darkness, They came to their rest. As the kings of Asia, They went to a far land; As the early shepherds, They found it close at hand.
When they saw Saint Joseph By their ghostly art, ‘Forget not thy clients, Brother’, quoth my heart, When they saw Our Lady In her place assigned, ‘Forget not thy clients, Mother’, quoth my mind.
But my soul hurrying Could not speak for tears, When she saw her own Child, Lost so many years. Down she knelt, up she ran To the Babe restored: ‘O my Joy,’ she sighed to it, She wept, ‘O my Lord!’