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At length I rose from off my bed,

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

My folemn marriage-oath.
Soon by the wet lock-handles were

My fingers moist'ned much,
And sweetly dropt with oil and myrrh

Left by his melting touch.
His quick’ning Sp'rit heart-fetters broke

And heal'd my dull disease ;
As dropping oil that makes the lock

Soon yield and ope with ease.

Verse 6. I opened to my Beloved, but my Beloved bad

withdrawn bimself, and was gone : my beart failed eben be Spake. I fougbi bim, but I could not firid

bim ; I called bim, but be gave me no answer. I op'ned straight to my Belov'd,

Expecting his embrace ;
But, ah! from thence he had remov'd,

And justly hid his face.
Mine aking heart did not collect

His words that gave the wound,
And, wailing fore my base 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 restless mind.
So much my former flothfulness

To present damage turn'd;
In grief I doubled mine address,

Yet still his absence mourn'd.

Verse 7. Tbe watchmen that went about the city found

me, they fmote me, tbey wounded me ; ibe 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.

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Kind pastors formerly condolid

My case with sympathy;
But now I met with such as rulld

With force and cruelty 1.
Untender watchmen, on their rounds,

In open streets, 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 profession they defam’d,

Nor did my failings hide;
A strolling harlot I was nam’d,

And not a loving bride.
Verse 8. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if

ye find my Beloved, tbat ye tell him ibat I am fick

of love. O Salem's race, when watchmen wound,

Won't ye more favour fhow?
What pity can't with them be found,

May I expect with you?
I want my foul's beloved One ;

None else can give me eale :
I'm sick of love; Oh! is there none

To tell him my diseale?
His absence from my soul is death ;

O! if ye find his grace,
I charge you, with sy dying breath,

To represent my case. .

The COMPANIONS Words. Verse 9. Wbat is tby Beloved more than another be

loved, 0 tbou faireft among women! What is thy Beloved more than anotber beloved, that thou doft to charge us?

+ Ezek. xxxiv. 4.

+ Bb

Fair lover, thou who dost to us

Thy moaning speech direct,
Whose shining beauteous carriage thus

Commands our high respect;
The object does thy love engage,

We judge by viewing thee,
Must surely be fome personage

Of very high degree.
What's thy Belov'd ? pray let us know,

For whom thou art so sad,
And giv'st such folemn charge, as though

He not an equal had.
Thou fairest beauty, can't thou fee

His match when he removes ?
Pray, what alluring charms has he

Beyond all other loves ?

Tbe CHURCH's IVords. Verse 10. Ay Beloved is wbite and ruddy, the chiefefi*

among ten thousands. If why I love my Jesus so,

The wond'ring world enquire,
My grounds are fuch as, did they know,

Their hearts would also fire.
O there is no Belov'd like mine!

He's white and ruddy both ; All human beauties, all divine,

His glorious person clothe.
White in his natures both descry'd,

From ev'ry blemish free;
And ruddy in his garments dy'd

With blood he shed for me.
Was he not red but only white,

The lily not the rose,
He might fuffice the angels fight;

But I am none of those.
Was he not white but only red,

A fuff'rer for his sin,
His blood would rest upon his head,
Nor could I joy therein.

* Heb. Standard-bearer,

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But here's my joy and confidence,

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

The redness of his death.
Since for my fin he bore disgrace,

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 thousand enfigns fair,

Triumphant leads the van.
To him the heav'ns their homage bring,

To him celestial throngs,
Ten thousand saints and angels fing,

With rapture on their tongues.
Created wisdom cannot scan

The root of Jesse's rod;
Nor speak the greatness of the man,

The grandeur of the God.
Verse 11. His bead is as the most fine gold, bis locks

are * bushy and black as a raven.
His head which once was crown'd with thorns,

And where all wisdom dwells,
A crown of glory bright adorns,

Which finest gold excells.
So firm, so bright, so eminent,

And durable for ay,
Is his extensive government,

And universal sway.
Black as a rav'n's his curled hair

And bushy locks; a mark,
That still his age is fresh and fair,

His counsels deep and dark.
Beauties of youth and age agree

To deck his awful fway ;
Fair youth without inconstancy,
Full age without decay.
Or, Curled.

Verse 12. His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the ri.

vers of waters, washed with milk, and * fitly set. His dove-like eyes most bright appear,

Like there the brooks have wet;
Or milky streams have moist'ned clear,

Like diamonds fitly fet.
These sparkling eyes with piercing fight

O'erlee the shades of death;
Inspecting secrets of the night.

And searching hell beneath.
He with his fix'd and steady eyes

Beholding distant parts;
Both deeps divine of counsel spies,

And deeps of human hearts.
Behold, both loftiness and love

In his omniscient eye;
The eagle temper'd with the dove,

With meekness, majesty. Ver. 13. His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as /weet flowers; bis lips like lilies dropping Sweet-smelling

His rosy clieeks a bed of flow'rs

Still tow'ring up perfume ;
Or spices that with summer-show'rs

Their sweetest scent resume.
These very cheeks he once resign'd

To them that pluck'd the hair,
Most sweetly to th’enlighten'd mind

Refreshing virtue share.
His lips, resembling lily blooms,

Drop fav'ry words of grace ;
Like oil of myrrh with fine perfumes,

To suit a fainting cafe.
The balmy drops his lips afford

Give life to fons of death :
The vital favour of his word

Restores expiring breath.

Heb. Setting in fulness; that is, Fitly placed, and set as a, pre: cious fone in the foil of a ring, + Or, towers of perfume.


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