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Thy fellowship's my fond defire,
Thus fu'd by kindly calls;

Because my vanquifh'd heart on fire
Thy beauty's captive falls.

I cannot fee with pleasure, love,
Thy feet on mountains roam;
Nor can I reft, until above
My palace be thy home.

I own, my spouse, and fifter dear,
Unfham'd my brother-hood;
We're doubly fib, our kindred's near
By marriage and by blood.
Thou haft, my Father being thine,
In's love a filial part;

And I'm (thou haft fo much of mine,)
Scarce mafter of my heart.

To thee I bear a love intenfe,
Ev'n to the last degree;
Thou, in effect, by violence
Haft rapt my heart from me.
Of all created beauties brave
E'er fashion'd by my hand,
None like thy comely graces have
My heart at fuch command.
One glance of thy believing eye,
One chain of thy fair neck,
Part of thy form has ravish'd me;
How muft the whole affect!

Thy pow'rful faith and love detains
My heart trapt, yet enlarg'd,

With ftrong delights and pleasing chains,

I'm conquer'd and o'er-charg'd.

Verse 10. How far is thy love, my fifter, my Spouse! bow much better is thy love than wine! and the Smell of thy ointments, than all Spices!

Dear relative, thou in whofe veins

My blood and Spirit run,

Bound to my heart by various chains,

I'll in thy praife go on.

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How fair! how grateful unto me

Are all thy fruits of love!
Thy love beyond compare I fee,
And with my heart approve.
My love divine was in thine eye
Preferr'd to richest wine;
And, not to be behind with thee,
I'll speak the praise of thine.
Thy love excells the choiceft wine
That chears man's heart apace;
For lo! this fervent grace of thine
Can God's own heart folace :
No wine of off'rings once pour'd out
Did fuch acceptance win,
As does thy fhining life without,
From burning love within.

All graces fweet thy love attend,
By me acceptance find,
And forth their fragrant odours fend,
Like oil of purest kind.

The holy unction pour'd on thee
Yields to my heart a feast,
And fmells more † redolent to me
Then fpices of the east.

As ftreams into the fpring reflow,
To me is thy recourfe:

I call thee fair, who made thee fo;
My love's of thine the fource.
Thy love's my due, because of old
With men were my delights;
I joy'd in loves I fhould behold,

Now charm'd I'm with the fights.
Heart-piercing love of ancient rife
Thou didst fo much engross
The wounds of love made me despise
The torments of my crofs.

Ver. 11. Thy lips, O my Spouse, drop as the boneycomb boney and milk are under thy tongue, and the Smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

+ Sweet, or favoury.

O fpoufe, thy love with lovelinefs

Is mix'd in word and walk;

My tongue takes pleafure to exprefs
How I approve thy talk.

Drops from my lips diftill'd, with ease,
To faints more fweetnefs yield,
Than honey-combs which bufy bees
Suck from the flow'ry field.
Both Canaan's bleffings glide below
Thy fweet inftructive tongue :
For thence do milk and honey flow,
To feed and feast thy young.

Thy heart ftill with thy tongue agrees,
To fill the flowing tide,

And fhew thou art, without disguise,
My fair and fertile bride.

Such is thy wonted holy ftrain,
Refreshing pleafures load,

Thy language in difcourfe with men,
And duty towards God.

Cloath'd with my righteoufnefs, thy fmell

Is like a field of blifs:

And hath with this, to deck thee well,
A robe of fav'ry grace.

Hence ftill abroad thy favour flies
In work and practice fair,
Which Lebanon's perfumes outvies,
That fcents the circling air.

As there, fweet-fmelling trees and flow'rs
Did, fann'd with gales, abound;
Thy gofpel-walk fweet odours pours

To God and man around.

Verse 12. A garden inclosed is my fifter, my spouse; a Spring fhut up, a fountain fealed.

My bride's a garden of folace,
Where fruits and flow'rs abound';
A facred fpot, inclofs'd by grace,

Well fenc'd and wall'd around.

From common earth fequeftrate quite,
Referved for my ufe;

Preferved alfo by my might,

From vi'lence and abufe.
A fpring, defufing cryftal ftreams,
Does 'midft the garden fwell;
Shut up from fultry hurtful beams,
And feet would taint the well.
A fountain feal'd for fecrecy,

T' enhance the worth unfeen:
For fhelter and fecurity,

To keep it pure and clean.

My privy-feal was ftamp'd thereon,
That blifs which heav'n commands
Abroad from thence in rills may run,
And ftreams o'er diftant lands.
As me the Father feal'd to fpread
For hungry fouls Heav'n's food;
So Zion's fprings are feal'd, to fhed
On thirsty ground a flood.

Verfe 13, 14. Thy plants are an orchard of pomgranates, with pleasant fruits, camphire with Spikenard; Spikenard and faffron, calamus and cinnamon, with all the trees of frankincense › myrrh and aloes, with all the chief Spices.

Sweet fruits all flourishing around
My garden well befeems;

Which cannot prove a barren ground,
Amidft fuch living ftreams.

Thy plants of grace do parallel

An orchard rich with trees;

Sweet, to delight the tafte and fmell;

Fair to falute the eyes.

Here 'granates young, and camphire grow;

Here fpice and incenfe bloom,

'Nard, cinnamon, myrrh, aloes blow

With gales a rich perfume.

Here num'rous plants with fragrant scent,
And odours moft refin'd;

All in their nature excellent,

And various in their kind.

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Thy blooming plants of grace difplay
A heav'nly foil and air;

And fap divine, which I convey,

Makes all the planting fair.

Wild nature's foil could ne'er produce
Such trees as here do ftand
For fpecial pleasure, fpecial use,
All planted by my hand.

Verse 15. A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and Streams from Lebanon.

Thy pleasant garden's blooming plants

All others far excel;

For Heav'n, to thine indulgent, grants
Streams of falvation's well.
This fountain open, full, and nigh,
Makes plants their vigour yield;
Yea, neighb'ring gardens does fupply,
And each adjacent field.

Thy graces frank their juice convey,
Not dript as fhallow pails;

But living fprings, that night and day
Flow to refresh the vales.

Such is thy lib'ral flowing mind;
Nor are with penury

Thy bleffings to thy banks confin'd,
But common as the fea.

My quick'ning Spirit, freely fhed,
That Zion's banks may flow,
The river is, whofe ftreams do glad,
And makes the planting grow.
The well of water here runs o'er,
The current to maintain;

With hafty courfe to endless glore,
As rivers to the main.

Not Jordan fwell'd from Lebanon
So ftoutly rolls his tide;
As crystal rivers from the throne
Thro' Zion's vallies glide.

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