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- 13. The Figtree Hath Put Forth Her Green Figs, And The Flowering Vines Give A Good Smell. Arise My Love, My Fair One, Come.
13. The figtree hath put forth her green figs, and the flowering vines give a good smell. Arise my love, my fair one, come.
To the soul that has reached God, there is no longer any winter; but there is a season composed of the other three joined in one, which is, as it were, immortalized by the death of winter. For, before reaching the inner winter, the soul had passed through all the seasons of the spiritual life; but afterward, it re-enters upon a perpetual spring, summer and autumn. The mildness of spring does not prevent the fervor of summer nor the fruitfulness of autumn; the heats of summer do not interfere with the beauty of spring nor the abundance of autumn, and the fruits of autumn interpose no obstacle to the enjoyment of spring, nor to the ardor of summer.
O blessed Land! happy they who are enabled to possess you! We are all entreated, with the Spouse, to come out of self that we may enter there. It is promised to all, and He who possesses it, and to whom it belongs by right of His eternal generation and of the purchase of His blood, earnestly invites us all to proceed thither. He furnishes us with all the means of doing so; He draws us by His urgent solicitations; why do we not make haste?