Eliz.  Hast thou felt this?

Guta.  In part.

Eliz.  Oh, happy Guta! 
Mine eyes are dim—­and what if I mistook
For God’s own self, the phantoms of my brain? 
And who am I, that my own will’s intent
Should put me face to face with the living God? 
I, thus thrust down from the still lakes of thought
Upon a boiling crater-field of labour. 
No!  He must come to me, not I to Him;
If I see God, beloved, I must see Him
In 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 forth
His sorrow’s glory; hunger, weep with Him;
Writhe with His stripes, and let this aching flesh
Sink through His fiery baptism into death,
That I may rise with Him, and in His likeness
May ceaseless heal the sick, and soothe the sad,
And give away like Him this flesh and blood
To feed His lambs—­ay—­we must die with Him
To sense—­and love—­

Guta.  To love?  What then becomes
Of 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 given
My 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 vein
Proclaims my weakness.

[Lewis enters.]

Lewis.  Good news, my Princess; in the street below
Conrad, the man of God from Marpurg, stands
And from a bourne-stone to the simple folk
Does thunder doctrine, preaching faith, repentance,
And dread of all foul heresies; his eyes
On heaven still set, save when with searching frown
He lours upon the crowd, who round him cower
Like 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’s
My 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 down
And say to the holy man, the Landgrave Lewis
With humble greetings prays his blessedness
To make these secular walls the spirit’s temple
At least to-night.

Eliz.  Now go, my ladies, both—­
Prepare fit lodgings,—­let your courtesies
Retain in our poor courts the man of God.

[Exeunt.  Lewis and Elizabeth are left alone.]