Imágenes de páginas

Thy rills of grace to me return,

And own their springs in me:

As garden-ftreams from thence must run,
With tribute to the fea.

Verfe 16.

The CHURCH's Words.

Awake, O north wind; and come, thou South; blow upon my garden, that the Spices thereof may flow out: let my Beloved come into bis garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.

In ample praise, my King, I hear,
Makes worthlefs me his theme;
But with a stunn'd, aftonifh'd ear,
I fink to duft for fhame.

What humbling wonders he performs!
On mites his picture draws;
Then makes the despicable worms
His fubject of applaufe.

Lord, if I be a garden fair,

On thee the praise must land:
For all my verdant graces were
Plants of thy mighty hand.
Thy spicy fruits thou doft approve,
And deign'ft thus to command,
Are bloffoms of thy fruitful love,
And on thy breath depend.
They quickly languish, fade, and die;
They ceafe to bud or flow,

And faplefs, fcentlefs, fruitlefs lie,

Unless thy Spirit blow.

Awake, O heav'nly Wind, and come;
Excite the spicy vale;

Blow on this garden of perfume
A roufing, quick'ning gale.
On Zion's fons, O Sp'rit divine,
Pour grace and gifts abroad;
Make paftors by perfumes of thine,
A favour fweet to God.

Sharp gales from chilling north command, To roufe the feeds of grace:

Then warming fouth's foft wings expand, Till fpices flow apace.

From ev'ry point, O mighty winds,

Blow a new Penticoft:
Let blinded atheistic minds
Know there's a Holy Ghoft.
O let my beft Beloved come,
And fpread his area broad
With choiceft fruits of rich perfume,
Moft grateful to my God.
My garden's his (in all its views);
The life, the fap, the root:
The product whole to him accrues,
From whom is all the fruit.
Come, elfe the banquet cannot stand;
Come bring thy pleasant treat;
The fruits of thy laborious hand,
And toil with bloody fweat.

[blocks in formation]

Am I the garden Heav'n can own,
Where living waters flow,
As cryftal rivers from the throne,
To make the planting grow?

O heav'nly Wind, awake and come,
Blow all thy gracious gales

On this my garden of perfume,
Elfe all its favour fails.

O holy Spirit, from above

My with'ring heart inspire,
And raife, by various forms of love,
As various wants require.

Let northern breezes fill my fails
With fharp convincing grace:
Then, from the fouth, refreshing gales
Refume their joyful place.

Make all the fpices flow abroad,

As graces active here,

To entertain my Lord and God,
Faith, love, and joy appear.

Let my Belov'd his prefence fweet
Now to his garden grant,

To tafte his pleasant fruits, and eat
What he himself did plant.


CHRIST awaketh the Church with his Calling.-The Church, having a Taste of CHRIST's Love, is fick of Love.-A Difcription of CHRIST by his Graces.


Verse 1. I am come into my garden, my fifter, my Spouse; I bave gathered my myrrb with my Spice; I have eaten my boney-comb with my boney; I bave drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.


My Love, in answer to thy pray'r,

I'm here at thy request;

And ready both to give and share
The pleafure of the feaft.

I'm come, my fpoufe, and fifter dear;
I'm to my garden come,

To gather up my fpice and myrrh;

I'm pleas'd with this perfume.

My graces relish like a feast

Of honey, milk, and wine:

I make myself a welcome guest;
The fruits are mine and thine.

Eat, drink, O friends, whom I approve;

I alfo welcome you:

Yea, drink abundance of my love,

Full freedom I allow.

Your fainting fpirits here refresh
With plenty spread abroad,

The grace and love, the blood and flesh
Of your incarnate God.

Not elect angels ever share

Such ftrange and matchlefs food; They feast on their Creator's care,

[blocks in formation]

Redeemer's blood.

The CHURCH's Words.

Verse 2. ¶ I fleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my Beloved that knocketh, faying, Open to me, my fifter, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my bead is wet with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

The heart of Jefus kind I fee,

But mine ungrateful fails;
Two natures are at odds in me,
And oft the worst prevails.
Both fleeping flesh I have, that rests
In floth unto my fhame;

And waking grace, that still protests
Against the lazy frame.

Hence, though I fleep, I at my heart
Some inward knocking hear;
'Tis Jefus' voice, his loving dart
Thus wounds my waking ear.
"Come, open, my unfpotted dove,
"Thy heart I bolted find;
"Awake, my fifter; rife, my Love,
"Let in thy dearest friend.

"Wrath's mid-night show'r bedew'd my locks,
"Storms on my head did blow:
"Wilt thou unkindly flight my knocks,

"Who fuffer'd for thee fo;

"And now ftand waiting patiently

"To give the purchas'd good,

"At present ready to apply

The bleffings of my blood?"

Verse 3. I bave put off my coat, bow fhall I put it on? I bave washed my feet, bow fhall I defile them?

When thus in most endearing terms

Kind Jesus knock'd and cry'd,
My heart, refifting heav'nly charms,
On bed of floth reply'd;

"My clothes are off, my nap is fweet,
"How fhall I rife undreft?
"How fhall I ftain my new-wafh'd feet?
"Excufe me; let me reft."

My non-admiffion of his grace

His holy Spirit vext;

[ocr errors]

My answer for my laziness

Was but a vile pretext.

Verfe 4. My Beloved put in his band by the bole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.

When I so shamefully refus'd

Access to my Belov'd,

Another kindly way he us'd,

Which my

affections mov'd.

Though I his word did bafely flight,

Yet, ere I was aware,

His Spirit by refistless might

Did kindly draw the bar.

He, to unbolt the door, put in

His gracious hand of pow'r : Then did his love upbraid my fin,

And melt by bowels fore.

Verse 5. I rofe to open to my Beloved, and my bands dropped with myrrb, and my fingers with SweetSmelling myrrh, upon the bandles of the lock.

How long he ftood, how oft he knock'd,
How patient who can tell!

What drops of grace on th' entry lock'd
From his sweet fingers fell!

* Or, in me.

« AnteriorContinuar »