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Higher by far then Carmel top,

The walls of heav'n to scale ; When thine advent'rous, foaring hope

Takes place within the vail. Th'excellence of Carmel high

Can't match thy crimfon head; Its hairs are of a purple dye,

Which once the Lord did bleed. Each pin which holds thy hair in dress,

Each glance from grace within,
Speaks universal stateliness;

Not one disorder'd piv.
Each holy air around thy face

Dnes fo thy beauty 'enhance;
A lustre shines in ev'ry grace,

A charm in ev'ry glance.

-7be King is * beld in tbe galleries. To prove the beauty ravishing

And luftre of thy dress ;
How does it captivate the King,

And deep his heart impress!
Jesus, the King of kings renown'd,

Is held within thine arms,
In gall’ries of his grace, and bound

A captive to thy charms.
The glorious.and majestic One,

Whom death could ne'er detain, Is by thy pow'rful graces won,

And ty'd as with a chain. Strange loveliness it is that sways

The Regent of the ficies! Constraining him to stay and gaze';

It fo attracts his eyes. Buld with the King are faith's efforts ;

Bless'd they the conquest share ! Who win him to his facred courts, And then can hold him there.

* Or, bcund.


Such is the glory of his grace,

He boasts to be o'ercome ;
And feasts the victor with folace,

Who fought but for a crumb.

Verse 6. How fair * and bow pleasant ari tbou, O

Love, for delighis!
O Love, no words can specify

Thy forms of loveliness :
Delights of diverse kinds in thee

Are more than I express.
No equal for delights hast thou,

No match on earth below :
Itall thee fair, and pleasant too,

Because I made thee fo.
My Love, thy dress without, how fair!

Within, how sweet to me!
My righteousness and graces are

The rebes I made for thee.
My lab'ring life was spent throughout

The marriage suit to fpin,
That makes my bride all fair without,

All glorious too within.
Verse 7. This tby feature is like to a palm-tree, and

tby breasts to clusters of grapes. The sweet proportion I observe

Of graces fair in thee;
None from their proper station swerve,

But act harmoniouily..
Thy flature, like the palm-tree firm,

Is stately, straight, and tall :
No burden can the flourish harm,

Nor years the growth enthral.
Thy breasts of love to me and mine,

Square to the gospel-plan,
Chear, like the clusters full of wine,
The heart of God and man.

* Or bow art thou made fair,

Verse 8. I said, I will go up to the palm-tree, I will

take bold of the boughs tbereof : now also thy breasts Joull be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of iby

nose like apples; " Į will, said I, this palm-tree climb,

- This lovely walk approve; B And to my bride in holy trim

“ I'll manifest my love *. " I'll apprehend, by saving grace,

" As I decreed of old, 66 Her little boughs, her tender race,

“ And never quit the hold.” Lo! Heav’n shall then thy breasts inspire,

As clusters fill'd with wine :
My presence shall thy graces fire

To thy content and mine.
The breath of life thy noftrils blow,

Shall with sweet scent abound:
No sav'ry apples e'er could throw

Such grateful odours round,

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9. And the roof of thy moutb like the best wine, (for I my Beloved) that goetb down sweetly, cauf

ing the lips of those that are asleep to speak. Thy palate drench'd with holy love,

Shall drop the richest wine :
So sweet thy pray’rs and praise fall provę

A feast to me and mine.
I'll taste thy cheer, and speak it good,

For thou'lt in upright ways
Derive it from my plenitude,

Devote it to my praise.
Drops from the living vine that stream

With fweetness down will go;
To make thy cold affections flame,

Thy wither'd graces grow.

+ Hcb. palate A parenthesis of tlic bride's, fay fome,

* John xvi. 21.

+ Or, the ancient,

My Spirit's gen'rous wine will make

The old renew their days,
The dead to live, the dull to wake,

The dumb to speak my praise.

The CHURCH's Words. Verse 10. f I am my Beloved's, and his desire

is towards me.
Lo! how my loving Lord commends

Base me, who blush to hear!
And blood of grapes from Ethcol sends

My drooping heart to chear.
I'm not mine own, but his I'll be,

Whose love my heart doth fire;
And thus has fix'd on worthless me

His conjugal desire.
What line can this love-ocean found !

What tongue its measure tell!
Whose height immense, and depih profound,

Won heav'n, and vanquish'd hell!

Verse 11. Come, my Beloved, let us go forth

into the field, let us lodge in the villages. Come, dearest Love, let us retire

From this vain earth's annoy ;
That undisturb'd communion near

We may alone enjoy.
We'll chuse fome secret, lonely place,

To vent our joys the more ;
And forage in the field of grace,

Until we feast in glore.
Thy company such hidden trains

Of confolation brings ;
That, pois’d with this, my foul disdains

The pomp of earthly kings.
In rural villages below,

Come let us lodge all night, Till dusky shades of fin and woe

Give place to glory's light.

Verse 12. Let us go up early 10 the vineyards : let us

See if the vine flourish, wberber the tender grape appear, 'und ibe pomegrana:es bud forib: there will

I give thee my loves.
Unto the vineyards of thy grace

Come let us early go;
To fee, in this retiring place,

If all the planting grow.
Come visit, Lord, thy sacred ground;

See how thy nurs’ries bear;
If vines and grapes and 'granates round

Their flow'ry raiment wear.
O come along, thy succour grant,

While I thy fruits review ;
For at thy pleasure ev'ry plant

Its verdure will renew,
The vines their blosson will resume,

· Their tender grapes revive ;
See how the 'granates then will bloom,

And all the graces thrive.
In these retirements while I live,

Thy presence I'll improve;
And joyful there I will thee give

The tokens of my love.
In nearness sweet with thee apart

I'll dash vain loves with ire,
And wholly oiler thee iny heart

In flames of holy fire.

Verse 13. Tbe mandrakes give a smell; and at our gates

are all manner oj pleasant fruits, new and old, «bich

I beve laid up for thee, O my Beloved !
Here, Lord, for thee the garden's drest;

For thee the feast is fpread,
Come then vouchsafe with me to rest,

Below the verdant fhade.
The mandrakes here, love-fruits and flow'rs,

Do spread their odours round;
And at our very gates sweet stores -
And fruits of grace are found.


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