Page images

Higher by far then Carmel top,

The walls of heav'n to fcale;
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 drefs,
Each glance from grace within,
Speaks univerfal ftatelinefs;
Not one diforder'd pin.

Each holy air around thy face
Does fo thy beauty 'enhance;
A luftre fhines in ev'ry grace,
A charm in ev'ry glance.

-The King is * beld in the galleries.
To prove the beauty ravishing
And luftre of thy drefs;
How does it captivate the King,
And deep his heart imprefs!
Jefus, 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 majeftic 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 fways
The Regent of the fkies!
Conftraining him to ftay and gaze';
It fo attracts his eyes.

Bold with the King are faith's efforts;
Blefs'd they the conqueft fhare !
Who win him to his facred courts,
And then can hold him there.

* Or, bound.

Such is the glory of his grace,

He boafts to be o'ercome;

And feafts the victor with folace,

Who fought but for a crumb.

Verle 6. How fair * and bow pleasant art thou, O

Love, for delights!

O Love, no words can specify

Thy forms of loveliness:
Delights of diverfe kinds in thee
Are more than I exprefs.

No equal for delights haft thou,
No match on earth below:
I call thee fair, and pleafant too,
Because I made thee fo.

My Love, thy drefs without, how fair!
Within, how sweet to me!
My righteoufnefs and graces are
The robes I made for thee.

My lab'ring life was fpent throughout
The marriage fuit to fpin,

That makes my bride all fair without,

All glorious too within.

Verfe 7. This thy ftature is like to a palm-tree, and thy breafts to clusters of grapes.

The fweet proportion I observe
Of graces fair in thee;

None from their proper flation fwerve,
But act harmoniouily..

Thy flature, like the palm-tree firm,
Is ftately, ftraight, and tall:
No burden can the flourish harm,
Nor years the growth enthral.
Thy breafts of love to me and mine,
Square to the gospel-plan,

Chear, like the clufters full of wine,
The heart of God and man.

[blocks in formation]

Verfe 8. I faid, I will go up to the palm-tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now alfo thy breasts fhall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nofe like apples ;

“I will, faid I, this palm-tree climb, This lovely walk approve;

"And to my bride in holy trim

"I'll manifeft my love *.

"I'll apprehend, by faving grace,
"As I decreed of old,
"Her little boughs, her tender race,
"And never quit the hold."

Lo! Heav'n fhall then thy breafls infpire,
As clusters fill'd with wine:
My prefence fhall thy graces fire
To thy content and mine.

The breath of life thy noftrils blow,

Shall with fweet fcent abound: No fav'ry apples e'er could throw Such grateful odours round.

Verfe 9. And the roof of thy mouth † like the beft wine, (for my Beloved) that goeth down fweetly, cauf ing the lips of thofe that are afleep to Speak.

Thy palate drench'd with holy love,

Shall drop the richeft wine:

So fweet thy pray'rs and praife fhall prove
A feaft to me and mine.

I'll tafte thy cheer, and fpeak it good,
For thou'lt in upright ways
Derive it from my plenitude,

Devote it to my praise.

Drops from the living vine that ftream
With fweetnefs down will go;
To make thy cold affections flame,
Thy wither'd graces grow.

* John xvi. 21.

+ Hcb. palate

A parenthesis of the bride's, fay fome.

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 praife.

Verfe 10.

The CHURCH's Words.

I am my Beloved's, and his defire is towards me.

Lo! how my loving Lord commends
Bafe me, who blufh to hear!
And blood of grapes from Efhcol fends
My drooping heart to chear.

I'm not mine own, but his I'll be,
Whofe love my heart doth fire;
And thus has fix'd on worthless me
His conjugal defire.

What line can this love-ocean found!
What tongue its measure tell!

Whofe height immenfe, and depth profound,
Won heav'n, and vanquifh'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 undifturb'd communion near
We may alone enjoy.

We'll chufe fome fecret, lonely place,
To vent our joys the more;
And forage in the field of grace,
Until we feast in glore.

Thy company fuch hidden trains

Of confolation brings;

That, pois'd with this, my foul difdains

The pomp of earthly kings.

In rural villages below,

Come let us lodge all night,

Till dufky fhades of fin and woe

Give place to glory's light.

Verfe 12. Let us go up early to the vineyards: let us fee if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: 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 vifit, Lord, thy facred ground;
See how thy nurs❜ries bear;
If vines and grapes and 'granates round
Their flow'ry raiment wear.
O come along, thy fuccour grant,
While I thy fruits review;
For at thy pleafure ev'ry plant

Its verdure will renew.

The vines their bloffom will refume,
Their tender grapes revive;
See how the 'granates then will bloom,
And all the graces thrive.

In thefe retirements while I live,
Thy prefence I'll improve;
And joyful there I will thee give
The tokens of my love.

In nearnefs fweet with thee apart
I'll dafh vain loves with ire,
And wholly offer thee my heart
In flames of holy fire.

Verfe 13. The mandrakes give a fmell; and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I bave laid up for thee, O my Beloved!

Here, Lord, for thee the garden's dreft;
For thee the feaft is fpread,

Come then vouchfafe with me to reft,
Below the verdant fhade.

The mandrakes here, love-fruits and flow'rs,

Do fpread their odours round;

And at our very gates fweet ftores ·

And fruits of grace are found.

« PreviousContinue »