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At length I rofe from off my bed,

My drowsy bed of floth,
To open to my fpoufe, who had

My folemn marriage-oath.
Soon by the wet lock-handles were
My fingers moift'ned much,

And fweetly dropt with oil and myrrh
Left by his melting touch.
His quick'ning Sp'rit heart-fetters broke
And heal'd my dull difeafe;
As dropping oil that makes the lock
Soon yield and ope with eafe.

Verse 6. I opened to my Beloved, but my Beloved bad withdrawn bimfelf, and was gone: my beart failed when be Spake. I fought him, but I could not find bim; I called bim, but he gave me no answer. I op'ned ftraight to my Belov'd,

Expecting his embrace;

But, ah! from thence he had remov'd,
And juftly hid his face.

Mine aking heart did not collect
His words that gave the wound,
And, wailing fore my bafe neglect,
Away my spirit fwoon'd.

With great perplexity I fought,
But him I could not find;
I call'd; but, ah! no answer got,
To ease my restlefs mind.
So much my former flothfulness
To prefent damage turn'd;
In grief I doubled mine address,
Yet ftill his abfence mourn'd.

Verfe 7. The watchmen that went about the city found me, they fmote me, they wounded me the keepers of the wall took away my vail from me.

When I, in private means, with care
Had fought, but fought in vain ;
I try'd his public courts, but there
Redoubled was my pain.


Kind paftors formerly condol'd

My cafe with fympathy;

But now I met with fuch as rul'd

With force and cruelty †.

Untender watchmen, on their rounds,

In open flreets, me got,

Afflicted me with many wounds,

And without mercy fmote.

They hurt my name, my head, my crown,
And fore reproach'd my zeal;
Wall-keepers rude thus beat me down,
And tore away my vail.

My fair profeffion they defam'd,
Nor did my failings hide;

A ftrolling harlot I was nam'd,
And not a loving bride.

Verfe 8. I charge you, O daughters of Jerufalem, if ye find my Beloved, that ye tell him that I am fick of love.

O Salem's race, when watchmen wound,

Won't ye more favour show? What pity can't with them be found, May I expect with you?

I want my foul's beloved One;

None elfe can give me ease:

I'm fick of love; Oh! is there none
To tell him my difeale?

His abfence from my foul is death;
O! if ye find his grace,

I charge you, with my dying breath,
To reprefent my cafe.

Verle 9.


What is thy Beloved more than another be

loved, O thou fairest among women! What is thy Beloved more than another beloved, that thou doft fo

charge us?

+ Ezek. xxxiv. 4.

† Bb

Fair lover, thou who dofl to us

Thy moaning speech direct,

Whofe fhining beauteous carriage thus
Commands our high refpect;

The object does thy love engage,

We judge by viewing thee,
Muft furely be fome perfonage
Of very high degree.

What's thy Belov'd? pray let us know,
For whom thou art fo fad,

And giv'ft fuch folemn charge, as though
He not an equal had.

Thou faireft beauty, can't thou fee
His match when he removes?
Pray, what alluring charms has he
Beyond all other loves?

The CHURCH's Words.

Verfe 10. My Beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefeft* among ten thousands.

If why I love my Jefus fo,

The wond'ring world enquire,
My grounds are fuch as, did they know,
Their hearts would alfo fire.

O there is no Belov'd like mine!
He's white and ruddy both;
All human beauties, all divine,
His glorious perfon clothe.
White in his natures both defcry'd,
From ev'ry blemish free;
And ruddy in his garments dy'd
With blood he fhed for me.

Was he not red but only white,
The lily not the rofe,

He might fuffice the angels fight;
But I am none of thofe.

Was he not white but only red,

A fuffrer for his fin,

His blood would reft upon his head,

Nor could I joy therein.

Heb. Standard-bearer.

But here's my joy and confidence,

Both mix'd I fee by faith; The whitenefs of his innocence,

The redness of his death.

Since for my fin he bore difgrace,
Who yet from fin was free;
This makes his white and ruddy face
A beauty meet for me.

The Chief of chiefs beyond compare,
IMMANUEL, God-man,
Among ten thoufand enfigns fair,
Triumphant leads the van.

To him the heav'ns their homage bring,
To him celeftial throngs,
Ten thousand faints and angels fing,
With rapture on their tongues.
Created wifdom cannot fcan

The root of Jeffe's rod;

Nor fpeak the greatnefs of the man,

The grandeur of the God.

Verse 11. His head is as the most fine gold, bis locks * are bufhy and black as a raven.

His head which once was crown'd with thorns,

And where all wifdom dwells,

A crown of glory bright adorns,
Which fineft gold excells.

So firm, fo bright, fo eminent,
And durable for ay,

Is his extenfive government,
And univerfal sway.

Black as a rav'n's his curled hair

And bushy locks; a mark,
That ftill his age is frefh and fair,
His counfels deep and dark.
Beauties of youth and age agree
To deck his awful fway;
Fair youth without inconftancy,
Full age without decay,"

*Or, Curled.

Verse 12. His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and * fitly set. His dove-like eyes moft bright appear,

Like thefe the brooks have wet;

Or milky ftreams have moist'ned clear,
Like diamonds fitly fet.

These fparkling eyes with piercing fight
O'erfee the fhades of death;
Infpecting fecrets of the night.
And fearching hell beneath.
He with his fix'd and steady eyes
Beholding diftant parts;
Both deeps divine of counfel fpies,
And deeps of human hearts.

Behold, both loftinefs and love

In his omnifcient eye;

The eagle temper'd with the dove,

With meeknefs, majefty.

Ver. 13. His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as † Sweet flowers; his lips like lilies dropping fweet-fmelling myrrb.

His rofy cheeks a bed of flow'rs
Still tow'ring up perfume;
Or fpices that with fummer-fhow'rs
Their fweeteft fcent refume.

These very cheeks he once refign'd
To them that pluck'd the hair,
Moft fweetly to th'enlighten'd mind
Refreshing virtue fhare.

His lips, refembling lily blooms,
Drop fav'ry words of grace;
Like oil of myrrh with fine perfumes,
To fuit a fainting cafe.

The balmy drops his lips afford

Give life to fons of death:

The vital favour of his word

Reftores expiring breath.

*Heb. Setting in fulness; that is, Fitly placed, and fet as a, pre

cious fione in the foil of a ring.

+ Or, towers of perfume.

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