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Thy rills of grace to me return,

And own their springs in me:
As garden-streams from thence must run,

With tribute to the sea.

The Church's Words.

Verse 16. | Awake, 0 north wind; and come, tbou

, South ; blow upon my garden, ibat the Spices thereof may flow out : let my Beloved some into bis gard. en, and eat bis pleasant fruiis.

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In ample praise, my King, I hear,

Makes worthless me his theme;
But with a stunn'd, astonish'd ear,

I sink to dust for shame.
What humbling wonders he performs !

On mites his picture draws;
Then makes the despicable worms

His subject of applause.
Lord, if I be a garden fair,

On thee the praise must land:
For all my verdant graces were

Plants of thy mighty hand.
Thy spicy fruits thou dost approve,

And deign'st thus to command,
Are blossoms of thy fruitful love,

And on thy breath depend.
They quickly languish, fade, and die ;

They cease to bud or flow,
And sapless, fcentless, fruitless lie,

Unless thy Spirit blow.
Awake, O heav'nly Wind, and come ;

Excite the spicy vale;
Blow on this garden of perfume

A rousing, quick’ning gale.
On Zion's sons, O Sp'rit divine,

Pour grace and gifts abroad;
Make pastors by perfumes of thine,

A layour sweet to God.

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Sharp gales from chilling north command,

To rouse the feeds of grace :
Then warming fouth's soft wings expand,

Till spices flow apace.
From ev'ry point, O mighty winds,

Blow a new Penticost :
Let blinded atheistic minds

Know there's a Holy Ghost.
O let my best Beloved come,

And spread his area broad
With choicelt fruits of rich perfume,

Most grateful to my God.
My garden's his (in all its views);

The life, the fap, the root:
The product whole to him accrues,

From whom is all the fruit.
Come, else the banquet cannot ftand;

Come bring thy pleasant treat;
The fruits of thy laborious hand,

And toil with bloody fweat.

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Am I the garden Heav'n can own,

Where living waters flow,
As crystal rivers from the throne,

To make the planting grow?
O heav'nly Wind, awake and conie,

Blow all thy gracious gales
On this my garden of perfume,

Elfe all its favour fails.
O holy Spirit, from above

My with’ring heart inspire,
And raise, by various forms of love,

As various wants require.
Let northern breezes fill my fails

With sharp convincing grace :
Then, from the south, refreshing gales

Resume their joyful place.


Make all the spices flow abroad,

As graces active here,
To entertain my Lord and God,

Faith, love, and joy appear.
Let my Belov'd his presence sweet

Now to his garden grant,
To taste his pleasant fruits, and eat

What he himself did plant.

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Christ awaketh the Church with his Calling.–The

Church, having a Taste of Christ's Love, is fick of Love.-A Discription of Cwrist by his Graces.

CHRIST's Words.

Verse 1. I am come into my garden, my sister, my

Spouse ; I bave gathered my myrrb with my Spice; I bave eaten my boney.comb with my boney; I bave drunk my wine with my milk : eat, o friends ; drink, yea, drink abundantly, o beloved.

My Love, in anfwer to thy pray’r,

here at thy
And ready both to give and share

The pleasure of the feast.
I'm come, my spouse, and sister dear;

I'm to my garden come,
To gather up my spice and myrrh;

I'm pleas'd with this perfume.
My graces relish like a feast

Of honey, milk, and wine :
I make myself a welcome guest;

The fruits are mine and thine.
Eat, drink, O friends, whom I approve;

I also welcome you :
Yea, drink abundance of


love, Full freedom I allow.

Your fainting fpirits here refresh

With plenty spread abroad,
The grace and love, the blood and flesh

your incarnate God. Not elect angels ever share

Such strange and matchless food; They feast on their Creator's care,

Not your Redeemer's blood.

The Churcu's Words.

Verse 2. f I sleep, but my beart wakerb: it is the

voice of my Beloved that knocketb, saying, Open 10 me, my fifrer, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my bead is wet with dew, and my locks witb

the drops of the night. The heart of Jesus kind I see,

But mine ungrateful fails ;
Two natures are at odds in me,

And oft the worst prevails.
Both sleeping flesh I have, that rests

In sloth unto my shame;
And waking grace, that still protests

Against the lazy frame.
Hence, though I sleep, I at my heart

Some inward knocking hear;
"Tis Jesus' voice, his loving dart

Thus wounds my waking ear. " Come, open, my unspotted dove,

“ Thy heart I bolted find; “ Awake, my sister; rise, my Love,

“ Let in thy dearest friend. “ Wrath's mid-night show'r bedew'd my locks,

“ Storms on my head did blow : “ Wilt thou unkindly flight my knocks,

• Who suffer'd for thee fo; “ And now stand waiting patiently

“ To give the purchas'd good, “ At present ready to apply

“The blessings of my blood ?”


Verse 3. I bave put off my coat, bow fall I put it on ?

I have washed my feet, bow shall I defile them?
When thus in most endearing terms

Kind Jesus knock'd and cry'd,
My heart, resisting heav'nly charms,

On bed of sloth reply'd;
My clothes are off, my nap is sweet,

« How shall I rise undrest ?
“ How shall I ftain my new-wafh'd feet?

“ Excuse me ; let me rest.” My non-admission of his grace

His holy Spirit vext; My answer for my laziness

Was but a vile pretext.

Verse 4. My Beloved put in bis band by tbe bole of

the door, and my bowels were moved * for bim. When I so shamefully refus'd

Access to my Belov'd, Another kindly way he us'd,

Which my affections mov'd.
Though I his word did basely flight,

Yet, ere I was aware,
His Spirit by resisless might

Did kindly draw the bar.
He, to unbolt the door, put in

His gracious hand of pow'r : Then did his love upbraid my fin,

And melt by bowels sore.

Verse 5. I rose to open to my Beloved, and my bands

, dropped with myrrb, and my fingers with sweetSmelling myrrh, upon the bandles of the lock. How long he stood, how oft he knock’d,

How patient who can tell !
What drops of grace on th’entry lock'd
From his sweet fingers fell !

* Or, in me.

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