Look! The month of flowers has come! March winds and April showers have done their work, and the earth is dressed in beauty. Come, my soul—put on your holiday clothes and go forth to gather garlands of heavenly thoughts! You know exactly where to go, for the "beds of spices" are well known to you. You've breathed in the perfume of those "sweet flowers" so often that you'll run straight to your Beloved and find all loveliness, all joy in him.

That cheek once so rudely struck with a rod. Often wet with tears of sympathy. Then defiled with spit. Yet now—as it smiles with mercy—it is like fragrant perfume to my heart! You did not hide your face from shame and spitting, O Lord Jesus, and therefore I will find my dearest delight in praising you!

Those cheeks were furrowed by the plow of grief and crimsoned with red lines of blood from your thorn-crowned temples. Such marks of unbounded love cannot but charm my soul far more than "pillars of perfume." If I cannot see the whole of your face, I would behold your cheeks—for the least glimpse of you is exceedingly refreshing to my spirit and yields a thousand delights.

In Jesus I find not just fragrance but a bed of spices! Not one flower but all manner of sweet flowers! He is to me my rose and my lily, my heartsease and my cluster of henna. When he is with me, it is May all year round, and my soul goes forth to wash her happy face in the morning dew of his grace and to comfort herself with the singing of the birds of his promises.

Precious Lord Jesus, let me truly know the blessedness that dwells in abiding, unbroken fellowship with you. I am a poor worthless one, whose cheek you have stooped to kiss! O let me kiss you in return with the kisses of my lips!