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Ver. 14. His bands are as gold rings fet with the beryl: bis belly is as bright ivory overlaid with Sapphires.

His hands are fairer to behold,

Though once nail'd to the tree,
Than beryls fet in rings of gold;
So rich in bounty's he.
His operations mighty, vast,
No mortal underflands;
For all the works of God have past
Through thefe his precious hands.
No iv'ry fine fo bright is found
With fapphires overlaid,
As bowels of compaffion round
Do gild his pierced fide.

The love about his heart that twines

Still firm, without decay,

In inftances unnumber'd thines

With sparkling bright array.

Verse 15. His legs are as pillars of marble, fet upon fockets of fine gold. His countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

His legs like marble pillars ftand

On golden fockets fine;

So firm's the throne of his command,
So ev'n his paths divine.
His ftately fteps, his fteady way,
His ftable kingdom, proves
He's folid gold, not mould'ring clay
Like fading mortal loves.

His countenance more lofty is
Than Lebanon by far;

More excellent than all its trees
And ftately cedars are.

So high, fo eminent is he,
That in his perfon fhine
The glories of the Deity,
With majefty divine.

Heb. bowels, the fame word as in verse 4.

Verse 16. His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is *alto

gether lovely.

Lo! his bleft mouth, that once did taste

The bitter gall for me,

With charms divinely fweet is grac'd,

Unto the laft degree.

Grace pour'd into his lips, alway
Does thence fo fweely run;
They fhare the Father's grace for ay
Who do but kifs the Son.

His mouth a triple heav'n imports,
A word, a fmile, a kifs;

A triple doom to dafh their sports
Whofe lips profane the blifs.

How hard, though fweet, this limning task!
I faint; I muft fuccomb;

He is (if what he is, you afk)

All over loves, in fum.

How weak my tongue his glory fings,

Which drowns feraphic art;

He's all difiderable things,

And charms in ev'ry part.
Adoring heav'ns his name confefs
The infinite unknown,

And in created human drefs
The uncreated ONE.

Their tongues that do his glory speak,
In loud and lofty lays,
For higher notes are ftill to feek,
And never reach his praife.

I wrong his name with words fo faint,

Nor half his worth declare;

Can finite pencils ever paint

The infinitely fair?

This is my Beloved; this is my Friend, O daughters of Ferufalem.

He is all defires

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My union to his perfon dear

Bears fuch fubftantial blifs;

All mortal loves and friendship here

Are but the fhade of this.

Whatever fweet relations be

'Mong creatures great or fmall, There's infinite difparity

Between him and them all.

Yet how much in himfelf he is,
So much is he to me;
For he is mine, and I am his,
And evermore fhall be.

The more I hold his glory forth,
Or would his name unfold;
The more incomparable worth
I ftill in him behold.

Now this, O Salem's progeny,
This is my love, my friend;
Search heav'n and earth but fure am I
His match you'll never find.
Your queflion far exceeds my reach,
What's thy Belov'd? faid he :
His praife defeats my fault'ring fpeech;
But, pray you, Come and fee.,


The Church profeffeth her Faith in CHRIST.-CHRIST fheweth the Graces of the Church, and his Love towards her.


Verse 1. Whither is thy Beloved gone, O thou faireft among women? whither is thy Beloved gone afide ? that we may feek him with thee.

SUCH glorious things are told by thee
About thy matchless mate;

His feekers too we fain would be,
And share thy happy state.

Thy holy walk and talk is fuch,

Thy countenance fo fair;

We think whom thou commend'ft fo much

Must be beyond compare.

O where is thy Beloved gone!
Thou fairelt of thy kind?
So happy in that glorious One
On whom thou fet'ft thy mind?
Where is he gone? pray let us know
What place frequents he moft?
That we in queft of him may go,
Nor find our travel loft.

The CHURCH's Words.

Verfe 2. My Beloved is gone down into bis garden, to the beds of Spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather'


Lo! my Belov'd, though he enthron'd

In glory keeps his place,
Yet here below is to be found
In gardens of his grace.

He plants, he waters every tree,
His bleffing makes them fpring;
Then gladly comes he down to fee
What rich increafe thy bring.
He walks among the fpicy beds,
Where aromatics flow;

And in his young plantation feeds,
Where fruits delicious grow.

He gathers there his chofen crop

Of lilies without toil;

And, when full ripe, he picks them up,
To deck his fairer foil.

Th' affemblies of his growing faints

Are ftill his chief repair:

Whoe'er his gracious prefence wants,

May feek with fuccefs there.

Verfe 3. I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine: be feedeth among the lilies*.

See this more largely explained, Chap. ii. 16.

Though now my Lord from me abfcond,
Yet judge him not unkind:

In's temple oft I have him found,
And hope again to find.

And, though from me to fenfe he hides,

My faith holds fast his name:
Mine int'reft in him firm abides,
I will not quit my claim.
He has my warmeft love ingroft,
And I poffefs his heart;
His love and mine unite, I boast,
Nor death nor hell can part.
The bond of love fo firm abides,
Ev'n in the darkest day,

That, though behind the fhade he hides,
He's never far away.
Though he his nobleft table spreads
Among his flow'rs above;
Yet here amidit his lily-beds

He keeps his feafts of love.

The ordinances of his grace
Are fields of his repair;

There I have feen his glorious face,

And you may fee him there.


Ver. 4. Thou art beautiful, O my Love, as Tirzab, comely as Ferufalem, terrible as an army with banners.

How comely is the bride, I fee,

Who thus mine abfence wail'd, And kindly thought and spoke of me

Ev'n when my face was vail'd!

Thy zeal for me when I withdrew.
I highly muft approve;
And now return to thee, to fhew
My great refpect and love.

I did forgive, and have forgot,
All thine infirmities:

Thy holy foul, from fin remote,
Is beauteous in mine eyes.

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