Thou wilt repose within mine arms!
With rapturous emotion
My bosom heaves and throbs and thrills
At this delicious notion.
Thou wilt repose within mine arms,
Whilst with thy fair gold tresses
I sport, and thy dear darling head
My shoulder gently presses!
Thou wilt repose within mine arms!
To truth will turn my vision,
And here on earth shall I enjoy
The highest bliss elysian.
St. Thomas! Scarce can I believe
The fact, my doubts will linger
Until upon my rapture’s wounds
I lay my eager finger.