. Pia desideria: Oder, Göttliche Adressen, in drei Büchern . ng von jedem Kifs! Wie vil die Pfleafure, wie göttlich die Blifs! Welche neuen Freuden aus Heavnly Love ftill fließen, wissen nur sie, die das Bleffing genießen. Buj oh! Zu lieben, oder zu Geliebten von thee, ist die große Myfty von Felicity: Und, mehr tinhance und empfehlen die Freude, Tis fuch wie die Zeit erhöht, nicht Defiroy. Meine Liebe, mein Leben in dir alle Hyblas Süßigkeiten, in dir alle Ofhirs richft Treafure trifft. Mit dem, was wiederholt Ecciacies pofleft, Wir lüften unsere Pfosten in jedem anderen Brot! O wie unfpeakables die Blifs zu mir, um mein selbst in thoug lofe

• Bildanbieter: Reading Room 2020 / Alamy Stock Foto
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. Pia desideria: or, Divine addresses, in three books . ng from each Kifs! How vail the Pleafure, how divine the Blifs! What new Delights from Heavnly Love ftill flow, They only, who enjoy the Bleffing, know. Butj oh ! to Love, or to Beloved of Thee, Is the great Myftry of Felicity : And, more tinhance and recommend the Joy, Tis fuch as Time does Heighten, not Defiroy. My Love, my Life in Thee all Hyblas Sweets, In Thee all Ofhirs richeft Treafure meets. With what repeated Ecfiacies pofleft, We vent our Paflions in each others Bread! O how unfpeakables the Blifs to me, To lofe my Self in thoughts of its Eternity! This Love is fubjeft to no anxious Cares, Too Blefi for Troubles, too fecure for Fears, In Faradices of Delight it feeds, Where whiteft Lilies deck thenamelld Meads: Among which Emblems of our pure Defires, We in chafl: Pleafures quench our mutual Fires. Bernard, in Cant. Serm. ?*.Thou who hearefi, or readefl this, take care to havtthe Lilies in thee, if thou xvouldfi have this dwclleiamong the Lilies vifit thee. M A IV. I M (i68). 1am myBdwel^ancLhiJ defirci<i tVTircird* me . Cant. /. zo. F.168. (1*9) IV. tm my Beloveds, avd his Defire is towards me, Cant, vij 10. rHro the thick fliadcs of a cool Cyprefs Grove, Weeping I wanderd to bewail my Love ;briny Torrent rowld adown my Breaft, id weighty Grief my finking Soul Opprefl.my lad Arms an Ivory Lute I bore, I Sorrows fure Phyiician heretofore, r d with my Grief, on a fofc Turf I Reft, id thus unload my over-burthend Breaft. Muft I my Days confume in lonefom Grief, id cruel Love deny me all Relief? let that Curfe attend my Enemies, they Hill Strangers to Love s envyd BliTs! For not to Love, is furely not to Live, Since lifts chief Blejfmgs we in Love receive: The whole defign of Living is to Love, /Ud who Loves moft, does beft bis Life improve. Bodies ( *7° ) Bodies of Earth down to their Centre tendAnd Seeds of Fire to theirs above afcencLSo our foft Hearts to Love are ftill inclind, Urgd by a vilent impulfe

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