SPIRITUAL HYMNS UPON SOLOMON'S SONG: OR, Love in the right Channel. Wherein that Divine Part of Scripture is paraphrased, and the dark Places expounded; and may be vocally Sung in the Ordinary Tunes of the Singing Psalms. By JOHN REEVE.  I will sing to my well-beloved, a song of my beloved, touching his Vineyard, Isa 5. 1. Teaching and admonishing one another in Psalms, and Hymns, and spiritual Songs, singing with Grace in your hearts unto the Lord, Col. 3. 16. And they sung the song of Moses, and the song of the Lamb, Rev. 15. 3. 
LONDON: Printed for the Author, and are to be Sold by John Hancock Senior, at the three Bibles, at the corner of Popes-head Alley, over against the Royal Exchange. 1684.   

To the chaste and pure Virgin-Souls, that love the Lord Jesus Christ in Sincerity, Grace and Peace be multiplied.  

I  
THese Hymns were most composed in the dark,  
When restless hours interrupted sleep:  
With a design to stop that rambling work,  
Ungovern'd fancy useth then to keep.  
Better make Hymns than yield to Melancholy,  
Or take the World to govern by a thoughtful folly.   

II.  
Hands off you venomous Creatures; you that draw  
The rankest Poison from the sweetest flowers:  
Yea, that by Rigour of a lustful Law,  
Would force Divine love to conform to yours.  
I fear, if you should light upon this Book;  
You'd force it from itself, and like a lovesong look.   

III.  
But if you do, our Loves are still Divine;  
The stinking Dunghills can't put out the Sun:  
While you sing out your shame, we will incline  
To sing the Praise of God's eternal Son.  
We will in Psalms and Hymns, and Spiritual Song,  
Outsing the Mirth obscene, which unto you belongs.   

IV.  
Come then you Virgin▪ Spouses of the Lamb,  
Join consort with the Holy Ones above:  
Put off the Clog, your Body, if you can,  
And melt yourselves into a Mass of Love.  
Out with the dregs, and draw the Spirits higher,  
Let Love be Love Divine, and not a lustful Fire.   

V.  
I have lived out now, more than threescore years,  
And never yet could find my heart in tune  
For such a Work as this; it plain appears,  
Love's hard to be refined! O, how soon,  
Returns the dregs and smut! the strength of Grace  
And Age's weakness, both at work, take little place.   

VI  
Nor had this been exposed to public view,  
But that the Child was drawn by Cogent hand:  
'Twas hard to trust it, when there are so few  
chaste Eyes, and pure Minds, abroad the land.  
But let it take the Covert of the wings  
Of Him, whose work it is; of Him, whose praise it sings.    

CANT. I. 1. The Song of Songs, which was solomon's. 
HYMN 1.  

'TWas Solomon's Song, but now 'tis mine:  
'Tis yours, you blessed Saints on high:  
You Mil'tants come and make your claim;  
All you that are athirst, draw nigh.  
This Song of Songs, and Hymns of praise;  
Sweet Jesus at thy feet we lay,  
Together with our Hearts and Souls,  
And for acceptance humbly pray.  
King Solomon shan't Praise thee alone,  
Nor singly sing his part in this:  
We'll Praise thee too, because that thou  
Our Jesus art, as well as his.  
Strike up you blessed Angels, Tune  
Your Music to the highest Key;  
You separated Souls in bliss,  
Sing forth his Praise (as well you may).  
How precious is this Song of Songs,  
Where Christ himself concerned is,  
And sings the Praises of his Church,  
As they're concerned in singing His!  
Come blessed Spirit of our God,  
Inflame our hearts with heavenly fire;  
W'el sing our parts: O! raise our hearts  
And Tune them yet a great deal high.    
CANT. I. 2. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his Mouth: 
HYMN 2.  

LEt those inam'ring Lips of thine,  
With Love-begetting Love;  
Seal Kisses on these Lips of mine,  
That I may taste and prove,  
What those immense Treasures of Love,  
Those Seas and Oceans be:  
Let sacred Love flow from above,  
In Nectar streams to me.  
And let me kiss those Kisses, which  
Can raise my Heart on high,  
And love that Love, that can enrich  
And crown my Poverty.  
But will renowned Jesus deign  
To kiss so vile a Sinner,  
And be of undeserved Love,  
The Author and Beginner!  
Can filthy Lips, and so unclean,  
Expect a Prince his Kiss!  
Do Kings embrace a Love so mean!  
Was ever Love like this!  
He that could kiss the bitter Cross,  
And kiss the burning Wrath,  
And kiss the Breath of direful Death,  
A Kiss for Sinners hath!    
CANT. I. 2. — For his Love is better than Wine— 
HYMN 3.  

LOrd! I esteem thy precious Love,  
And prise it more than richest Wine,  
There is no Cordial can remove  
My fainting, like that Blood of thine.  
Wine spills the man that drinks too much,  
And greatly doth his Health impair;  
But those that drink the most of Love,  
The temperatest Persons are.  
The Wine is not the poor Man's Drink;  
But here's a Cellar always free:  
The Rich may come, and poorest Saint  
May drink his fill, as well as Herald  
There was no Wine at Cana's feast,  
Was once complained by them above;  
But such a word shall ne'er be said,  
At Sion's Feast there is no Love.  
My Soul! pierce thou this pipe of Love,  
Fill all thy Flagons to the Brim;  
Divine excess is soberness,  
And Holy Drunkenness no Sin.  
The Wine that with us best agrees,  
And curious Palates most approve,  
Is not without unpleasing Lees:  
But oh! there is no dregs in Love.  
Love's All that can be spoke or thought;  
'Tis all Earth hath, or Heaven above.  
Epitomise a Deity,  
The total sum of all is LOVE.    
— For his Love is better than Wine. 
HYMN 4.  

LOve me, my dearest Jesus, love me,  
And shed that Love, and let me see  
A Letter written full of Love,  
And superscribed unto me.  
O love my Soul, and love me more,  
Although I know no reason why:  
Let me experience where that great  
Magnetic power of Love doth lie.  
Thy Love's a flood to quench the Flame●  
Of all my burning base Desires:  
Thy Love's a Flame to drink the floo  
Of Vanity, my heart aspires.  
Thy Love's a Corr'sive to my Sins;  
Eats the proud Flesh from carnal heart:  
Thy Love's a Cordial to revive  
The faintings of the better part.  
Let Friends oppose, let Enemies rage;  
Let Tyrants threaten Death appall:  
Let Hell and Devils do their worst,  
I'll set thy Love against them all.  
Love me, my dearest Jesus, love me,  
And shed that Love, and let me see  
A Letter written full of Love,  
And superscribed unto me.    
CANT. I. 3. Because of the savour of thy good ointments, thy name is as ointment poured forth: therefore do the virgins love thee. 
HYMN 5.  

HOw odoriferous are the scents  
Of thy Grace's Divine,  
Beyond all measure poured forth,  
Upon that Heart of thine!  
No Garden flowers, no Spices, Lord;  
No sweet perfumes that please,  
Not Aaron's Oil, nor Mary's Box,  
Smell half so sweet as these.  
Those Virgins next about thy Throne,  
Angels and Saints that smell,  
Th' anointings of the holy One,  
And 'midst these Odours dwell;  
Are always in Transports of Love,  
Have nothing else to do:  
Would I were there, that I with them  
Might learn to Love thee too.  
The Virgin-Souls, whom thou art tuning,  
As strings to sound thy Praise;  
Whose hearts with holy Oil perfuming,  
With whom 'tis early days;  
Initial converts new crept out  
The Womb of Grace's laws,  
Commence their Love, and Face about:  
O how thy Ointments draws!  
Pour on't the anointings, Lord, and we  
Will wrap ourselves in sweet,  
And dwell amidst the rich perfumes,  
There will we place our feet;  
Tho it be costly, spare no cost,  
O spare, nor work, nor toil;  
Tho we have nothing else to give,  
We'll give thee Love for Oil.    
CANT. I. 4. Draw me, and we will run after thee— 
HYMN 6.  

WIth thy great Power draw me, Lord,  
And I to thee will come.  
With greater Power draw me, Lord,  
And I to thee will run.  
Draw me, and others I will draw,  
And we to thee will run;  
Except thou drawest, our backward hearts  
To thee they'll never come.  
When Jesus draws, he strongly draws,  
The flesh can't hold me back;  
Nor all the pleasures of the World;  
'Tis thee, 'tis thee I lack.  
When Jesus draws, he sweetly draws,  
As Beasts by Fodder led;  
As Lovers draw by Charms of Love,  
As Unions raise the Dead.  
The Loadstone draws the steely Mass,  
And none can tell us how;  
So draw my steely Heart, my God,  
And make my Powers bow.  
Yea, drawn I am, I bless thee for't,  
My Soul shall praise thee ever:  
O Father, Son and Holy Ghost,  
My God, forsake me never.    
CANT. I. 4. — The King brought me into his Chambers— 
HYMN 7.  

WHen fervent Love, with winged haste,  
To blessed Jesus flies:  
With winged haste he comes as fast,  
With help and choice supplies:  
Let's not his Church stand at the door,  
He sends no Servant down;  
But down the stairs he comes himself,  
That King of great renown.  
His Person is the thing She seeks,  
His Person tends upon Her;  
His Person is the thing She meets,  
His Person is Her honour.  
And up the Stairs he leads his Love;  
Gives Her a Princely Treat;  
With spiritual Nectar cheers Her heart,  
And Entertainments great.  
He seasts Her with his Chamber Love;  
The best of all his store:  
She seeds upon his Flesh and Blood;  
Her heart can wish no more:  
O Lord! thou art to me a dart:  
My wounded bleeding heart,  
Shall still impart her Lovesick Art,  
And never from thee start.    
CANT. I. 4. — We will be glad and rejoice in thee— 
HYMN 8.  

GO, empty Joys, with all you toys:  
I have a better Joy than you:  
The Wine, the Mirth, the Music▪ dance  
Doth but my precious Soul undo.  
The blessed Jesus hath vouchsafeed  
Upon the Mount my Soul to raise:  
Now I'll exalt his Name and Fame,  
And to the Heavens raise his Praise.  
Let things go how they will below,  
Let Mountains duel with the Seas▪  
Let Hell her hottest Fires blow,  
My heart in Him shall take her ease.  
The merry Mirth which madness yields,  
Which worldly Men so fast devours;  
Their pleasures and their drinking-hours▪  
Cannot afford such Mirth as ours.  
They cannot taste our Joys, O Lord;  
Nor can thy Saints more relish theirs:  
Our Joys will greater Joys afford:  
And theirs will end in bitter Tears:  
Therefore will we rejoice în thee:  
Our Joys shall feast upon thy store:  
When we are sad, we will be glad,  
And Praise thy Name for evermore.    
CANT. I. 4. — We will remember thy Love more than Wine— 
HYMN 9  

GIve place, ye Spirits of the Grape,  
That briskly fparkle in the Glass:  
There's no such Wine as Love Divine;  
O, what a flavour Jesus has!  
Were we possessed of East and West,  
And all the Joys of Heaven above:  
Treasures of both the Worlds: we will,  
Forgetting these, remember Love.  
Forgetfulness the fruit of Wine,  
But never was the fruit of Love;  
The more I take, the more I make  
Impressions deep, and past remove.  
We cannot meet with Wine so sweet,  
Nor yet so pleasant to the taste,  
As drops of warm and bleeding Love,  
That trickle from his heart so fast:  
The Wine that from the Grape is pressed,  
In time will into sour turn;  
But Love Divine will ever shine,  
With hottest Flames that always burn.  
The Wine is drawn, the Vessel's out,  
You cannot make it ever run:  
Whom Jesus loves, he loves as fresh,  
As if it were but now begun:  
Thou God of our Salvation,  
Draw forth our Loves more unto thee:  
By loving us, teach us to Love,  
And thy beloved Spouse to be.    
CANT. I. 4. — The upright love thee. 
HYMN 10.  

THou art beloved, and best approved,  
Of all that are upright,  
Whose hearts are sound, sincerely bound;  
Thou art their chief delight:  
Whose very heart and souly part,  
Dwells with the Truth; and when▪  
men's hearts are truly true to thee,  
As thou art true to them.  
Tho Sinners scorn, and all forlorn,  
In their ungodly sight:  
Wretches they are, that would not care,  
To Love thee, if they might.  
The Hypocrite will speak thee fair,  
But hath no love within:  
Kiss▪ and betray, like Judas they;  
O Lord, it is their Sin!  
My Lord! I love thee truly, though  
I Love not as I should:  
I love thee, yet I love thee not;  
At least, not as I would:  
I would I could; but since 'tis so,  
Worms can but act as Worms▪  
Accept a real wish it were,  
A spark till Fire burns.    
CANT. I. 5. I am black, but comely (O ye Daughts of Jerusalem) as the tents of Kedar, and curtains of Solomon. 
HYMN 11.  

O What a sorry thing am I,  
That cannot bear this weight of Love!  
I'm sunk, and down, and dead, as if  
Some dart had struck me from above.  
My Face is black because of Sin;  
But yet am comely by his Grace:  
I'm black without, but fair within:  
The scorching Sun hath tanned my Face.  
How black soever, Lord, I am;  
Yet I am comely towards thee:  
O mayst thou love! and give me leave,  
Thy ardent Lover yet to be▪  
Tho Sin and Sorrow makes me black,  
Like Kedar's Tents, that always lie  
Exposed to Wind and Air unkind,  
And inward wasting Misery.  
Yet Solomon's bed is not so fair,  
Nor are his Curtains half so bright,  
As I am, through his Grace, within,  
Comely in my Beloved's sight:  
Ye Daughters of Jerusalem,  
Do not contemn me at this rate,  
Because of my deformity,  
And this my dark and gloomy state.  
For Love he can, although I am,  
Most undeserving of his Love;  
And black as Hell, as if I were,  
As fair as is the Heaven above.    
CANT. I. 6. Look not upon me, because I am black, for the Sun hath looked upon me.— 
HYMN 12.  

A Cloud may quickly overcast  
The brightest Sunny-day;  
And through the sweetest Joys on Earth,  
Our tears can break their way.  
Ye Daughters of Jerusalem,  
The Sun hath tanned my Face.  
Alas! the Morphew that obtrudes  
Itself in Beauty's place!  
Look not upon me, turn your Eyes:  
I am a loathsome sight  
To God and Angels, and myself;  
In me is no delight:  
O how I loathe myself, my God,  
To see this filthy sight!  
O how I long, though thus unclean,  
To love thee, if I might!  
There is a sacrificed Lamb,  
Whose Blood can make me white.  
There is a Sun can wake the day,  
Out of this dismal Night:  
Then shall my black be washed off;  
Then shall my Beauty shine;  
Fair as the Morn; though thus forlorn,  
Both in your Eyes and mine.    
CANT. I. 6. — My mother's children were angry with me— 
HYMN 13.  

MY Mothers (not my Fathers) Sons;  
Half Brethren, Lord to me;  
That claim a Kind'red of thy Church,  
But not akin to Thee:  
Sons of the Church create my woes,  
And cause me all this moan:  
They'd have me see by their blind Eyes,  
And quite put out my own.  
They have a way to fast and pray,  
Thy word doth not allow:  
And to their Modes of Worship false,  
They'd have my Conscience bow.  
The golden Image they set up,  
My Soul shall not adore.  
The fiery Furnance of their Wrath;  
I'll bear, and help implore.  
Awake, O Christ, and me assist,  
And keep my heart within,  
True to thy Truth, thy Cause and thee,  
That nothing make me sin:  
I'd better anger Men and Devils,  
That's but a Creature wrath:  
Than by submitting to these evils,  
Try what thine Anger hath.    
CANT. I. 6. — They made me keeper of the Vineyards— 
HYMN 14.  

ARise, O▪ Lord, some help afford;  
To thee my Soul doth moan:  
I cannot hold, I must-unfold  
My grief to thee alone.  
They've gotten Vineyards here and there,  
Exotic to thy Laws,  
Which by their force they'll make me keep,  
From which my Soul withdraws.  
Their Figs are naught, their Grapes are sour,  
Their Vintage is not good:  
Their Winepress is to press the Saints;  
Their Liquor is their blood.  
Head of the Church! I pray thee let  
My heart be guided so,  
That I may yet their anger get,  
And make them more my foe▪  
They've got a Vineyard strange to thee,  
No Scripture-rule must guide it;  
And they'd have me their slave to be:  
O Lord! I can't abide it.  
Be thou a keeper, Lord, to me,  
And I'll be none of theirs;  
And fortify my heart within,  
From all besieging fears:  
So will I Praise, and Trophies raise,  
For my Illustrious King;  
And throw false Worship out of doors,  
As an accursed thing.    
CANT. I. 6. — But mine own Vineyard I have not kept— 
HYMN 15.  

ALas! when I with them comply,  
My Soul doth suffer loss:  
My Vine doth languish, and my Trees  
Are overgrown with Moss.  
My Graces they felt a decay,  
My Plants began to die;  
My Conscience bled, my Joys were fled;  
O, what a Wretch was I!  
●alse Worship is a canker-Worm;  
It Poisons all the Fruit:  
Unscripture-Modes are Locusts all;  
My Vineyard yet doth rue 't:  
'twas never well with me and mine,  
Since thee and thine I slighted;  
For fear of man, from thee I ran;  
O how I am benighted!  
Let thy Commands and Laws, O Christ,  
My Vineyard be to me:  
And next to them, O let my Soul,  
My other Vineyard be:  
And let it be my great employ,  
To keep my Vineyards clean:  
So shall I rest, and be possessed  
Of Joys no Eye hath seen.    
CANT. I. 7. Tell me (O thou whom my soul loveth) where thou feedest, and where thou causest thy flocks to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions? 
HYMN 16.  

O Thou Beloved of my Soul!  
Tho hast a People free  
From all these mixtures, cleansed pure:  
O tell me where they be!  
Thou hast thy Institutions,  
And Ordinances pure;  
Thou hast thy Churches: Tell me when,  
And where I may be sure.  
Thou hast Enclosures rich and fat,  
Peculiar to thy Sheep;  
And dainty nour'shing Pastures where  
Thou dost them always keep.  
Thou in Communion fold'st them up,  
In Winter keep'st them dry;  
Thou giv'st them shades from heat of Sun:  
O tell me where they lie!  
For why should I be led away  
By Creatures, in pretence;  
And starve my soul, misled by such  
As come I know not whence?  
O tell me then, and bring me where,  
In this my greatest need,  
Thy Pastures and thy Pastors are;  
And I with them will feed.    
CANT. I. 8. If thou knowst not (O thou fairest among women) go thy ways forth by the footsteps of the flocks, and feed thy kids beside the shepherd's tents. 
HYMN 17.  

O Thou my fairest one!  
(Thus my beloved spoke)  
If thou wouldst know what thou must do,  
And with my Saints partake.  
Go up to yonder Mount,  
Thence look, and thou shalt spy,  
Clear as the Sun, what must be done,  
Presented to thine Eye:  
Seest thou them folded Flocks,  
Whose heart the Spirit ties:  
Whom Gospel order calls into  
Distinct Societies?  
Seest thou the Fields, where they  
Enjoy their heavenly feed?  
The Shepherds stand at my command,  
To guide them at their need.  
Their Magna Charta is  
My Word; my Law their Guide:  
O follow them that follow me,  
Their foot shall never slide:  
There go, and join thyself;  
Thy Soul there feed and feast;  
Follow their steps to Pastor's Tents,  
And there thy Soul shall rest.    
CANT. I. 9 I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharoahs' chariots. 
HYMN 18.  

MY Church! my Love! I'll now begin,  
T' express the Joy that I am in,  
And sing thy Praise as thou dost mine,  
And tell the World why I am thine.  
I've made thee fair, there's no compare;  
No worldly thing is such to me:  
King Pharoah's Charet-Horses were  
A comely sight, but not like thee.  
When I behold their beauty, and  
Coupled in order as they stand;  
I more admire and Praise those Unions,  
My Churches have in their Communions.  
Were Pharoah's trappings bossed with Gold,  
As if they would outshine the Sun?  
Much more the polish of thy Grace  
Shines; that my heart is overcome.  
Did Pharoah's Horses prance along,  
And gladly draw his Charets on?  
Such Service from thee I have found,  
As if thou didst not feel the ground.  
As Pharoah's Charets did exceed;  
The best in all the world they be:  
Such is my Love, such is my Dove,  
The best in all the world to me.    
CANT. I. 10. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold. 
HYMN 19  

WHen Princes Daughters, in whose Veins  
The Royal blood doth run:  
Stand richly dressed in all their best,  
By art that can be done:  
My Church! thy beauty far exceeds,  
Thy Glory far excels:  
My Love! thou 'rt fairer than them all;  
In thee all beauty dwells.  
When rows of Jewels beautify  
Their Face, and Cheeks adorn,  
To make thee fair in Prince's Eye,  
And welcome as the Morn.  
The Graces of my Church shine forth  
More lustr'ous, though but small:  
Methinks I see my Glory shine  
Upon their Faces all.  
When chains of Gold, the Necks enrich,  
Of mortal Beauties here:  
It draws their Eyes, who are not wise,  
And leads them to a snare:  
But happy they that can be caught  
With Zions Beauty so:  
And fall in Love, as I have done  
With Saints, and what they do.    
CANT. I. 11. We will make thee borders of gold, with studs of silver. 
HYMN 20.  

WE, Father, Son and Holy Ghost,  
Will all in one conspire;  
To stud the Glory of thy Face,  
And make thee All Desire.  
I'll to my Father for supplies,  
And largely he'll dispense:  
I'll to the Holy Ghost also,  
And fetch thee Riches thence.  
Thou shalt partake of all my stores,  
My Heart, my Blood, and Me;  
If what's in Heaven, or Earth can do't,  
We'll give it all to thee.  
We'll with most glorious Ornaments,  
Polish that heart of thine:  
Borders of Gold, and Silver studs,  
Shall make thy Glory shine:  
When all is done, 'tis all too small  
A Present for my Love:  
I'll give myself away also,  
And thou shalt live above  
All things but me; for I'll be Gold,  
Jewels, and every thing,  
And thou shalt live upon my stores,  
And loud my Praises sing.  
And then will we rejoice in thee,  
When we have made thee thus:  
Then sin no more, (as did before)  
Shall break 'twixt thee and us:  
My Soul admire this fervent Fire:  
Such Love no Tongue can tell:  
Who could have thought that Christ that bought  
Should Love his Church so well!    
CANT. I. 12. While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sends forth the smell thereof. 
HYMN 21.  

HOW rich and dainty is the fare,  
My blessed Love, and Lover dear,  
Provides for his beyond compare,  
And feasts them with his heavenly cheer?  
The Cloth is laid, the Table spread,  
The Dainties are his Flesh and Blood:  
The welcome Guests are richly fed,  
And He himself becomes their Food.  
His Presence graces all the Feast;  
His smile make welcome every Guest:  
He sits at Table with them, where  
His Saints are glad to meet Him there.  
His presence draws their Graces forth,  
Faith, Love, Joy, Patience, and the rest;  
The smell whereof is better worth,  
Than Spikenard Ointments at the best.  
Thus Gardens yield their sweetest smells,  
When Rain and Sun extract them forth.  
Thus in his presence man excels,  
Who's in his absence little worth.  
My Soul! thy King at Table sits;  
Now let thy Spikenard-Graces lend  
The sweet perfumes; and pleasant scents  
Into his Nostrils largely send.    
CANT. I. 13. A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved to me; he shall lie all night between my breasts. 
HYMN 22.  

TEll me no more, you Sons of Art,  
You Students in the Case,  
What 'tis will ease a Sick man's heart,  
And all his Grief displace:  
Jesus, when he doth please to be  
Refreshing from above;  
How he transports me! O I feel,  
Myself all Fire and Love.  
The holy Oil was made of Myrrh:  
O Christ anoint me so:  
Thy Body was embalmed with Myrrh!  
O Christ embalm me too!  
And make me sweet, that I may greet  
A never dying Rest,  
And smell of thee, as if possessed,  
With Myrrh upon my breast!  
There is a Night of darkness, when  
This Myrrh is Cordial:  
A Night of great Affliction, than  
This Myrrh is all in all▪  
O let him lie between my breasts,  
And with his Love perfume me,  
And yield his heart-reviving Art!  
This Night will else consume me.    
CANT. I. 14. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi. 
HYMN 23.  

OO me! to me! what comfort were't,  
Or what refreshment could I see,  
If he were sweet to all the World,  
And were not also sweet to me?  
I'll sing my well▪ beloved's Praise,  
And speak what he hath been to me:  
Engedi's Aromatic Vines,  
Have never been so sweet as Herald  
Clusters of Balsam Camphire were,  
In those same Vineyards past compare:  
Yet none so sweet, yet none so rare,  
As my Beloved's Odours are.  
How sweet was Christ upon the Cross,  
Making Atonement for my Sin?  
Or else my Life had been my loss▪  
What a sad case had I been in!  
How sweet was he within the Grave?  
Himself, not spices made him so:  
How sweet a Bed shall I then have,  
When sleep with Jesus I shall go!  
Blessed be the day that e'er I smelled,  
What sweet in my Beloved was:  
Bless be the day that ere I felt,  
That sweetness my Beloved has:  
How sweet art thou in Heaven, where  
Angels and Saints perfumed are?  
Amidst that plenty grant there be,  
One cluster, Lord, laid up for me.    
CANT. I. 15. Thou art fair, my Love: behold, thou art fair, thou hast doves eyes. 
HYMN 24.  

THou 'rt fair, my Love! Lord, how can I be fair, thus foul with Sin!  
Thou 'rt fair, my Love: Lord, tell me why▪  
What transport art thou in!  
I ne'er am fair, but when there are,  
Reflections from thy Grace  
Darted upon me, from thy fair  
And most resplendent Face.  
Thou art my Love: Lord, can it be,  
When I deserve thy fury,  
And highly merit, that thou me  
Shouldst in Oblivion bury!  
Yet cause thy Love is like thyself,  
Too deep for humane Eye:  
Thou lov'st, because thou lov'st me, Lord,  
I know no reason why:  
Thou hast Doves eyes so pure and chaste:  
Those Eye-beams draw my heart:  
In tears of godly sorrow washed:  
They shine like Stars in dark:  
Lord! Is't because they shall be so,  
When Glory makes them bright?  
Or, is't because they shine below,  
With my Redeemers light?    
CANT. I. 16. Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant. 
HYMN 25.  

NAy, thou art fair, my Love, not I:  
Beauty keeps house in thee alone.  
There is no Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars,  
But thou art All and every One.  
Away fond Pleasures, fleeting Joys:  
Would I had never loved you so:  
You smiling, but beguiling Toys:  
I've got a wound, and you my foe.  
Come dearest Lord! O let me taste  
Of Pleasures that are more Divine:  
For those are gone, but these will last;  
With these refresh this heart of mine.  
How pleasant are thy smiles, when I  
Under the guilt of Sin do lie!  
When I damnation every hour  
Expect, how pleasant is thy power!  
How pleasant are thy ways to me!  
Thine Ordinances all are so:  
To Eat and Drink, and Feast with thee,  
There's no such pleasure I do know.  
But O! when I shall come to die,  
And see thy Face in endless bliss,  
And shall embrace the Man himself:  
There is no Pleasure like to this.    
CANT. I. 16. — Our bed is green. 
HYMN 26.  

THou hast prepared a Bed of love;  
'Tis richly furnished with the best:  
Where thou and I eternally,  
Shall in each others Bosom rest:  
Our Bed is always green; it knows  
No Winter blasts, nor no such thing:  
It's always budding, fruitful grows:  
An ever, everlasting Spring.  
When vain delights transport the Rich,  
And seem to court the Men of pleasure:  
They're withered soon, and quickly gone,  
And fall full short in weight and measure.  
Give me those spiritual Joys, O Christ!  
Whose colour green, will ever last:  
And think on me, while here I be,  
And send me now and then a taste.  
My Soul revive! comfort thy heart,  
'Mid'st all the troubles thou had seen:  
Revive! for though the Stairs be dark,  
The Chamber's light, our Bed is Green.  
All Glory give to God above,  
And to our Jesus, God and Man:  
And to the Holy Ghost also,  
With all the Strength and Praise we can.    
CANT. I. 17. The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir. 
HYMN 27.  

COme let us sing the Praise  
Of our eternal House:  
Whose firm foundation is in Grace,  
Free Grace hath framed it thus:  
In Glory finished,  
Topstone in Glory laid,  
Rasters and Beams: eternal streams  
Of Love and Light displayed:  
Come let us enter, Grace,  
And here together dwell;  
Till I provide a better place,  
Let's rest us here a while.  
But, oh, that house above,  
When thither we shall come;  
It's built so sure, it shall endure  
An everlasting home.  
Wilt thou accept, O Christ!  
Of such a one as I?  
Poor I! to take a Lease of thee,  
For all Eternity?  
Wilt thou accept, said he,  
Of such a one as I,  
That must thy sinful will control?  
Come then, we both comply.    
Finis Cap. 1.  
Deo laus.   

CANT. II. 1. I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. 
HYMN 28.  

SHaron, the Garden of the World,  
The Pride of Palestine;  
Whose natural soil more glory bore,  
Then Sol'mon could resign.  
Could ne'er produce so sweet a Rose,  
As I w ll be to thee:  
So fair a Lily never grew:  
Sharon must stoop to me.  
My Church, I praise myself; not Pride,  
But hope of Custom makes me:  
Who'll have a Rose? a Lily, who?  
Where is the Soul that takes me?  
Upon the Cross I was distilled:  
Come taste in distillation  
The sweetness of the absent Rose,  
By Faith and Acceptation.  
Thou art my Rose, my Souls repose;  
O let me never be,  
My dearest Lord, a Thorn to thee,  
That art a Rose to me.  
Thou art the Lily of the Vale,  
A matchless Purity.  
Let me be gathered by thy Hand,  
And in thy Bosom lie.    
CANT. II. 2. As the lily among the thorns, so is my love a-among the daughters. 
HYMN 29.  

MY Church! my Love! thou art to me,  
A pleasant Lily, pure and white:  
The Daughters all, compared to thee,  
Are Thorns and Briars in my sight.  
'Tis thee I prise, and singly place  
My heart upon thyself alone:  
False Creatures, though I have their face,  
Are pricking Briars every one.  
Take it not ill, my Love, from me,  
That I have placed thy dwelling so,  
Encompassed round where Enemies be:  
As midst the thorns the Lilies grow.  
I'll make these thorns preserve thee safe,  
And keep thee from a worse foe:  
O, they shall save thee from the bite,  
Of that devouring Beast below.  
They shall fence out both Sin and Hell,  
Let out Corruption, slay thy Pride:  
So near thee they should never dwell,  
But for advantage on thy side.  
Now blessed Jesus, grant me this,  
That I may such a Lily be,  
And let these Thorns and Briars be  
A Preservation unto me.    
CANT. II. 3. As the appletree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons— 
HYMN 30.  

THou art to me an Appletree,  
My God, for fruit and shade:  
An Appletree thou art to me:  
Thy fruit will never fade.  
Trees of the Wood, are not so good,  
Their Fruits are none, or sour:  
An harbour they for Birds of prey,  
That will the Fruit devour.  
Better than all the Sons thou art,  
Hast been, and ever shall:  
The Angels are the Sons of God,  
But thou excell'st them all.  
The Saints are Sons of great delight,  
Adoption makes them so:  
But Son of God, and Son of Light!  
There's no such Son below.  
The firstborn Son, is Mother's dear,  
Her Life wrapped up in his:  
But not a Son can come so near  
My heart, as Jesus is.  
O! let this Apple▪ tree, my Lord,  
Within my Orchard be:  
Propriety makes all things sweet,  
Or else no sweet to me.    
CANT. II. 3. — I sat under his shadow with great delight— 
HYMN 31.  

LIke as the shadow from the heat,  
Protects and cools the panting Neet:  
So doth my Soul to covert fly;  
Under thy wings, O Christ, to lie.  
Shouldst thou let fall thy brightest Rays,  
It would consume my Life and Days:  
I cannot see thy Glory yet;  
Thy shadow will me better fit.  
How glorious are thy Saints above,  
That see thy Face in purest love!  
When such delights thy shadow can,  
Contribute to me, sinful man?  
My Soul! when he is shadowed forth,  
In Sacramental shades to thee;  
'Tis but the Picture of his worth;  
But what he is, thou dost not see.  
O, then sit under these sweet shades,  
And often guide thy footsteps thither:  
Till we ascend to brighter glades;  
In shadows lets sit down together.  
Be quiet, thoughts, thou irksome Flesh;  
Would thou wert crucified to me!  
To see no sights▪ taste no delights,  
Nor know no earthly thing but thee.    
CANT. II. 3. — And his fruit was sweet unto my taste▪ 
HYMN 32.  

THE bitter tree, the Cross,  
Bore him that bore the fruit;  
The choicest Fruit that ever was,  
His Father called him to't.  
There Pardon▪ grew, and Peace  
With God, with Man, within:  
A Fruit that did transcend by far  
The cursed fruit of Sin.  
Sweet pleasure is but pain;  
Swear't profits are deceit:  
The best of all the World, at best,  
Is but a subtle cheat▪  
He, he's the fruitful tree,  
His fruits all pleasant be.  
No Joys or Toys that ere I found,  
Are half so sweet as he.  
Here I may fill my heart:  
O, let me have a taste:  
My Christ, my Fruit, thou only art,  
As long as Life shall last.  
As thou bearest fruit for me,  
Let me bear Fruit to thee▪  
Do thou incline this heart of mine,  
That All-divine it be.    
CANT. II. 4. He bronght me to the banqueting house▪— 
HYMN 33.  

WOnder of Mercy! now I see,  
And have great cause to think upon,  
What Grace is, when it will be free,  
And puts its Royal clothing on.  
I that deserved to stand at Door,  
And take my Answer on my Knee;  
Into the House of all his Store,  
Himself vouchsafes to carry me.  
O, the rich welcome that he gave;  
My thirsty Soul at first approach!  
He brought me Sweetmeats out himself▪  
And set his choicest Wine abroach:  
Into his house of Wine he brings me,  
Leading me kindly, hand in hand,  
And, smiling, bids me pass the doors,  
Where all his richest treasures stand.  
Himself the House and Banquet is:  
His Presence with me, is a Feast:  
His Smiles are Sweetmeats, all of his,  
Is all in all, to every Guest.  
My Soul get off this dunghill World,  
Strive to ascend the blessed Mount:  
No Treats but these, will ever please,  
Or turn to any good account.    
CANT. II. 4. — His banner over me was love. 
HYMN 34.  

WHat Victories I ever got,  
What Lusts l've overcome:  
To my own strength ascribe I not,  
But to his Grace alone:  
My Banner was his love to me,  
All my success was his:  
His Standard called me forth, and he  
My strength and safety is.  
Do but, O Christ, O do but say,  
Thou lov'st me; that's enough:  
Love is all Weapons of array;  
Love Armour is of proof:  
Love me, my God, I need no more;  
My God, I ask no more:  
I perish if thou lov'st me not,  
The Battle is so sore.  
Here's Sin, the World, the Devil and Death;  
Combined to bring me low:  
I'm almost beaten out of Breath,  
(Some help!) they vex me so:  
O, do but love me, and I shall  
Banners of love display,  
Will break their hearts, and rout them all,  
And Victor get the day.    
CANT. II. 5. Stay me with flagons: comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love. 
HYMN 35.  

O What redundant love is this!  
What flowing streams break down the banks!  
More than enough, O Lord, it is;  
Love me but less, I'll give thee thanks.  
Here's love beyond all bounds and measure,  
So free, so full, so large, so quick:  
'Tis strange to see so vast a treasure.  
Love made me well, and makes me sick.  
But sick for more, and sick to see,  
The Fountain whence these streams do flow;  
Yet sick for more▪ and sick to be  
In place where this vast love doth grow.  
Stay me with Flagons of that Wine,  
Was pressed out of thyself, the Vine:  
Thy Blood, O Christ, will stay the Fire,  
That burns in me, sick with desire.  
O, let the Apples of my love,  
Cool Fires in my Love▪ sick heart:  
Till I below, and thou above,  
Shall meet at last, and never part.  
Till I am sick, I am not well:  
O that I had this sickness Lord,  
Such Joy doth in love sickness dwell,  
Such as my health could ne'er afford.    
CANT. II. 6. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me. 
HYMN 36.  

MY aching head and heart,  
Thou hast a hand to stay;  
Another hand that shall impart,  
Embraces all the day.  
In both thy hands, O Christ,  
My safety is secured:  
Within the foldings of thy arms,  
My Soul is safe immured.  
Castles and Towers are  
No safeguard in my case;  
Nor all the Ocean's Oaken walls,  
With me have any place:  
Only his circling Arms,  
As with a Wall of Fire;  
Defends me from the dreadful harms,  
Which Sin and Hell conspire:  
Besides the help that's in't;  
The Love that streams this way,  
Conveys more Spirits to my heart,  
Than fear can take away.  
It is, O let it be,  
The great support I find;  
That when I faint for want of thee,  
Thou have me in thy mind.    
CANT. II. 7. I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and hinds of the field, that ye sti● not up, nor awake my Love, until 〈◊〉 please. 
HYMN 37.  

O Let him take his rest, that hath  
Travelled so long, so far,  
To rescue Souls from burning wrath;  
O, make it all your care,  
You Daughters of Jerusalem;  
You that pretend to love him.  
O, give him no disturbance then,  
Nor to disquiet move him.  
I charge you by the Hinds and Roes;  
Those loving Creatures shall  
Witness against you as your foes,  
And on you Vengeance call.  
If you more brutish than the Beast,  
That want molest his Master,  
Shall by your Sin disturb his rest,  
And bring him to disaster.  
O Christ, my Love! Give thou the charge,  
The house and all is thine:  
O, take the Keys and the walk at large,  
Command whate'er is mine.  
I cannot bind them to the Peace,  
A weak and private man:  
Authority can make them cease,  
Let Sin do what it can.    
CANT. II. 8. The voice of my beloved! behold he comes leaping upon the mountains, and skipping upon the hills. 
HYMN 38.  

'TIs my beloved's Voice, I'm sure,  
'Tis not a Stranger's fallacy:  
That breatheth in the Word so pure,  
In which I learn that he is nigh:  
Behold, I see him coming, though  
The Hills and Mountains of the Earth:  
The great Zanzumming Tyrants do  
Oppose his Actions in their birth.  
Behold he comes, you Princes all,  
That have opposed his Royal Will;  
You must expect a dreadful fall,  
That Vengeance should your Besoms fill.  
Leaping and Skipping on the Hills,  
Trampling upon your greatest Powers,  
Dancing with pleasurable skills;  
He'll pull down all your lofty towers:  
Behold he comes, you shall not hinder,  
No difficulty stands before him,  
But he'll be sure to tread it under,  
And shortly make your Crowns adore him.  
Make haste, my God, make no delay;  
Thy waiting Spouse hath long sat up;  
O, make thee Wings, and come away;  
Give Antichrist her bitter Cup.    
CANT. II. 9 My beloved is like a Roe, or young Hart— 
HYMN 39  

O My beloved Lord!  
To me thy grace afford:  
The flames of thy sweet love to me,  
Kindle my love to thee.  
Give me but leave to love thee,  
That art so much above me:  
Let me be bold to let thee know,  
To thee myself I owe.  
My God, my heart is thine;  
'Tis thine, it is not mine:  
Let me but love, and call thee so;  
It's all the bliss I know.  
Thou art a pleasant Roe,  
Hunted to Death below;  
Whose Flesh and Blood for Sinners need,  
Is Meat and Drink indeed.  
Thou art a loving Hart,  
Killed with a murdering dart:  
A murdering dart that drew a flood,  
Of dear and precious blood:  
O, let that Blood me purge,  
From Sins, Filth, Gild, and Scourge,  
And let that broken Flesh me Feast,  
Till I with thee shall rest.    
CANT. II. 9 — He standeth behind our wall, he looks forth out at the windows, he shows himself through the lattices. 
HYMN 40.  

HE shows himself in cloudy gleams,  
Obscure and Window-Visions:  
Glimpses of Love, and twilight beams,  
And dark Illuminations.  
Why doth my Love immure his Face,  
And shroud himself behind our Wall?  
The Lattices Eclipse his Grace,  
And Windows interrupt his call:  
Is it because the visive Powers  
Of Mortals can't endure his sight;  
Or to distinguish these dark hours,  
From those that shine in perfect light?  
What ere it be, 'tis just that he  
Should now and then withdraw his Face:  
And 'tis rich Grace to let me see,  
The least glance in the darkest place.  
Behind our Wall, is not so far,  
That I should think him wholly gone:  
These Lattices and Windows are  
Helps to discern he'll come anon.  
A clearer sight, O, that I could  
Obtain! a sight that doth excel:  
There is no fear that e'er I should  
Admire too much, or Love too well.    
CANT. II. 10. My beloved spoke, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. 
HYMN 41.  

WHose is this rousing Voice, I hear,  
That breathes so sweet an Air,  
Through Walls and Lattices? so dear,  
So ravishing, so rare!  
'Tis my Beloved's voice, I know,  
That Courts my drowsy mind:  
That bids me rise from things below,  
And leave myself behind.  
Arise, my Love, and come away,  
Rouse from thy Morning sleep:  
Rise up, my fair One, no delay;  
Tho locked in Slumbers deep.  
My God, I come, I find no rest,  
No Bed of Ease, but thee:  
The present World is at the best,  
A Bed of Thorns to me.  
My God, I come; but oh, how loath▪  
I've drunk a sleeping Cup:  
And O, the dulness! O the sloth!  
Dear Jesus help me up:  
Then will I come away, and leave  
My Sins and Fears behind me:  
Farewell vain Pleasures, let me go,  
And let my Jesus find me.    
CANT. II. 11. 
For lo, the Winter is past, the rain is ov● and gone.  
Ver. 12 The time of singing of birds is com●, the voice of the Turtle is heard in our land  
Ver. 13 The figtree putteth forth her gre● figs, and the Vines with the tender grape● give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fai● one, and come away.  
HYMN 42.  

REjoice ye people of the Lords,  
There is a glorious day;  
There is a day will break your Cords,  
And fright your Fears away:  
The Winter blast is almost past;  
Farewell the Rain and Flood:  
Now Antichrist no more shall taste  
The sweet of Martyr's blood.  
There comes a Church-reviving Spring;  
The Flowers adorn the Earth:  
The Turtles with the Birds do sing;  
All hearts are full of Mirth.  
A time when every Tree shall yield,  
A pleasant Fruit to God:  
And all the Creatures of the Field,  
Shall feel no more his Rod.  
Rise then, my Love, and come away,  
Stand ready for the time:  
Prepare thee, for this longed for day,  
And let it find thee mine.  
Awake! behold, I'm at the door,  
Let me not find thee sleeping:  
My Spirit is up, I'll quickly put  
An end to all thy weeping.    
CANT. II. 14. O my Dove! that art in the clefts of the rocks, in the secret places of the stairs: let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. 
HYMN 43.  

MY mournful, chaste and harmless Dove,  
My Spouse thou art, and thee I love:  
I've hide thee in the craggy Rock,  
As if secured by Key and Lock.  
The clefts and rendings of my Side,  
Oped a passage to my Heart,  
And there my Dove shall safe abide,  
And thou and I will never part:  
The Hawks, and other Fowl's of prey;  
The Winter Storms of Persecution,  
Shall but entice my Dove away,  
And cleave my Heart for her Admission▪  
The secret places of the Stairs,  
Where she retreats to breathe her Prayers,  
Are open to my view; my Dove,  
I'll meet thee there, and show my Love▪  
O, let me hear thy Voice, my Dear,  
Tho broke and inarticulate:  
Thy Nonsense I'll be glad to hear,  
And prise the Prayer which thou dost hate▪  
O, let me see thee now and then,  
That sees thee always from my place.  
Present thyself once and again;  
It's joy to me to see thy Face.    
CANT. II. 15. ●ake us the Foxes, the little Foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes. 
HYMN 44.  

TAke us the subtle Foxes, Lord,  
They are too wise for us to take:  
They spoil thy holy places, and  
Entrenching there their Burrows make.  
They bark and peil the fruitful Vines:  
O tender thou the tender Grapes:  
Surround them by thy wakeful power,  
Till it be said, not one escapes.  
Let them be taken in their craft,  
Thou in the Trenches dig their Graves:  
Pluck off their Fox's skin, and drown  
Their Carcases in wrathful Waves.  
Let all the World see what they are,  
Let them not cheat thy Churches more:  
Entrap them in the traps they lay,  
And lay their Sin at their own door.  
Blessed Redeemer keep my Soul;  
A weak and tender Grape am I,  
A tender Grape that can't escape  
A little Fox's subtlety.  
Preserve thy Church, and her descend,  
From Lion's teeth, and Foxes wiles:  
So will we sing to our great King,  
When thou shalt bless our Cheeks with (smiles.    
CANT. II. 16. My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feeds among the lilies. 
HYMN 45.  

O Blessed day, that I can say,  
My Jesus, thou art mine:  
O blessed day, that I can say,  
My Jesus, I am thine!  
My Christ is mine by deed of gift,  
And that's a title good:  
And I am his by purchase right,  
He bought me with his Blood.  
I'll have no other Love but he,  
I like my choice so well:  
He'll have no other Spouse but me;  
Together let us dwell:  
He feeds among the Lilies white;  
There he doth most frequent:  
Amongst his Saints, all his delight  
Is placed to his content▪  
Their Graces are his sweet repast,  
Their Prayers and Praises are  
A Banquet to him, and their Faith  
His most delicious Fare:  
O let but me, and this Church be  
A Field of Lilies, where  
My Christ may feast, what likes him best,  
Upon his sent-in cheer.    
CANT. II. 17. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away: turn my beloved, and be like the Roe▪ or the young. Hart upon the mountains of Bether. 
HYMN 46.  

WHy stays the lingering Day?  
What ails the Morning light,  
To lie a Bed so long, while I  
Am longing for its sight?  
There is a Nuptial day  
Shall perfect all ere long:  
When all the shades shall flee away,  
And all the Saints shall throng  
Into the Bridal room,  
And coalesce in one:  
One Heart, one Spouse, to Christ alone,  
Made so by Union.  
A bright and glorious day,  
No clouds shall hide the Sun:  
And universal Joy shall raise  
The heart of every one.  
The glorious Angels shall  
These Nuptials celebrate,  
And gladly sound their Trumpets round,  
At a Triumphant rate.  
Till then, protect me Lord,  
And turn thy steps to me:  
O hasten, hasten, all thou canst;  
Delays Distractions b●▪  
O, be thou like the Roe,  
With winged speed make haste,  
Or as a Hart that runs apart,  
On Bethers Mountains fast.    
Finis Cap. 2.  
Triuni gratias.   

CANT. III. 1. By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. 
HYMN 47.  

MY God I love thee with my Soul,  
And yet I lie in Bed;  
Tho thou art mine, and I am thime,  
My heart is almost dead.  
Such drowsy damps overcast my Joys;  
I seek thee half asleep:  
And now I cannot hear thy Voice,  
I only sigh and weep.  
I seek thee, but I find thee not:  
My Lord, where art thou gone?  
Into what Covert art thou got,  
And leav'st me here alone?  
A slothful Suitor I have been;  
It prompts me to conclude:  
My Christ won't humour drowsiness▪  
Nor mind dull Solitude.  
Wake me, my God, with Voice and Rod:  
O rouse my drowsy Senses:  
Let me not lie, and sleeping dye,  
Or idly make pretences.  
My Soul awake, and rise, and shake  
This dulness off: for why?  
If thou will vainly live to sleep,  
Then must thou sleeping dye.    
CANT. III. 2. I will arise now, and go about the city, in the streets, and in the broad ways: I will seek him whom my soul loves: I sought him, but I found him not. 
HYMN 48.  

IN vain do I divert myself,  
And think the World shall ease me:  
And roll myself in earthly Pelf,  
And in its Pleasures please me.  
In the broad ways and City▪ streets;  
A Christ is rarely found:  
A Soul distressed, he seldom greets  
Upon such dirty ground.  
Thou thou hast left this wicked World long since:  
O, Christ thou art not there:  
O, let me get me out from hence,  
And seek some other where.  
Be gone, vain Pleasures, empty Toys,  
You please, yet vex me sore:  
You interrupt my spiritual Joys:  
I'll never love you more.  
I seek in vain, my Christ to gain,  
He dwells in other places:  
You're all my hindrance, and my sin,  
I'll never see your Faces.  
I thought I might enjoy his Light,  
In midst of worldly Pleasure:  
But I have found the World abound  
With no such blessed Treasure.    
CANT. III. 3. The watchmen that go about the City, found me: to whom I said, Saw ye not him whom my soul loveth? 
HYMN 49.  

YOu spiritual Watchmen at the Gate:  
O you whose Office 'tis  
To pity my distressed State,  
And tell me where he is:  
He whom my Soul loves; you know who,  
I shall not need to name:  
The Earth, the Seas, the heavens and you,  
Are filled with his Fame.  
Tell me, O tell me, where he is,  
If it be known to you:  
He is my only Joy, and Bliss,  
My Life and Heaven too?  
If I can't find him, I must die,  
What is this Life to me?  
If he absent, my Soul is spent:  
O, tell me where is he▪  
He that my Sin hath grieved away,  
Whose absence now I moan,  
That shed his Blood for my Souls good:  
O, whither is he gone?  
What! can't you answer? are you such  
Watchmen that cannot see?  
Or want you power in this dark hour,  
To bring my Lord to me?    
CANT. III. 4. It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me. 
HYMN 50.  

MY Soul, if thou a Christ wouldst find,  
In a distressed gloomy day;  
Unto the Shepherds bend thy mind,  
And they'll instruct thee in the way.  
No sooner parted from them, when  
I found my Joy, my Soul's delight:  
My heart did dance within me then,  
And I was ravished with his sight.  
I found my Jesus; let me come,  
And him embrace with both these arms:  
That like the rising of the Sun,  
Did rid my Soul of Midnight harms.  
My Soul! now hold him fast, and don't  
Disturb his quiet any more,  
Thy life and happ'ness lies upon 't:  
A fresh departure will be sore:  
I'll bring him to my Mother's House,  
There's Souls to save, as well as mine:  
I'll Feast him there, with all that's rare,  
And give him most delicious Wine.  
The Wine that makes his heart full glad,  
Is when he tastes the Loves of those  
That once were Rebels, or as bad,  
That are his Friends, and were his Foes.    
CANT. III. 5. I charge you, O ye Daughters of Jerusalem, by the Roes, and by the hinds, that ye stir not up, nor awake my beloved, till he please. 
HYMN 51.  

WHat pity 'tis that such a Guest,  
Whose Essence is all Love:  
Should be disturbed in his rest,  
And forced to make remove.  
You Members of his Churches all,  
Would I could charm you so;  
By Roes and Hinds, to still the Winds,  
And make no noise below.  
He gave me rest the other day,  
When I was almost dead  
With frights and fears, and drowned in tears,  
He lifted up my head.  
I never met with Joy till then,  
Nor never knew a day,  
Nor saw a Sun till he was come,  
To fright my Fears away.  
Contentments! there are no such things,  
There is no Sunshine-weather:  
No happiness, but that which brings  
Christ and my Soul together.  
'Tis just that you and I requite  
This blessed Peace he gave us,  
And freely give him rest for rest,  
As our dear Lord would have us.    
CANT. III. 6. Who is this that cometh out of the Wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant? 
HYMN 52.  

I Herd him speak his Love to Saints,  
That were out of desertion creeping:  
Arabian deserts spicy fumes,  
ne'er smelled so sweet, as smoak of weeping.  
Who's this! what glorious Person's this,  
That takes this solitary path;  
That fears no way, nor Beasts of prey;  
Of Desert-frights, no terror hath?  
But through all these dangers dares  
To come to a despised Jesus,  
And warily escapes the Desert-snares,  
And cries, There's nothing else will please us▪  
It is my Church; to me she seems,  
Like to some smoky Pillar▪ which  
Fired by the Holy Spirit means  
To soar aloft an heavenly pitch.  
She's in my Nostrils sweet perfume;  
The Merchant-Powders worthless be:  
The Myrrh, the Frankincense may soon  
Their Odours lose, but never she:  
Her Gifts and Graces, Prayers and Tears,  
Her Faith and Patience, Joy and Fears,  
Her Up's and Down's, her Sigh and Groans,  
Like bruised Myrrh, perfume the Air.  
Come forward then with winged pace,  
And leave this Wilderness behind:  
The nearer me, the sweeter place;  
Be thou but loyal, I'll be kind.    
CANT. III. 7. Behold his bed, which is solomon's: threescore valiant men are about it, of the Valiants of Israel: 
HYMN 53.  

KIng Solomon's Bed, that guarded was  
With threescore Men of Might,  
Whose Weapons breathed Fire to those,  
That waked him in the Night;  
Types out the Royal Guards, that tend  
His Throne and Diadem:  
Numberless Angels guarding him,  
That Guards himself and them:  
My Jesus! he is now at rest,  
At God's right hand of Power,  
And of eternal Joy possessed,  
Secured as in a Tower.  
No might nor spite shall ere affright;  
The bloody sweat is past:  
No more the Tears shall trickle down,  
That trickled down so fast.  
The flaming Cherubims of old,  
That kept the Tree of Life:  
Still keep the Chambers of the Lamb,  
And his beloved Wife.  
O thou that lov'st my Soul, command,  
Send me but one of those:  
But one of these sweet Angels, and  
I'll never fear my foes.    
CANT. III. 8. They all hold swords, being expert in war, every man hath his sword upon his thigh, because of the fear of the night. 
HYMN 54.  

ANGELS expert in War,  
heavens great Artillery:  
Gods Hosts unseen, Defenders are  
Of my dear Love and Me.  
'Tis not 'cause I deserve  
To have a Life guard by me;  
But 'cause he in a Bed of love  
Will please to settle nigh me.  
If Hosts against me rise,  
And men of War shall scare me:  
The Lord of Hosts will send his Hosts,  
They in their arms shall bear me.  
The Lord will Muster up,  
And send them to the Courts  
Of Tyrant▪ Rulers, who shall down  
With them, and all their Forts.  
Believe it, there are Thrones,  
And Nobles sit upon them:  
Above the earthly greatest Ones,  
And Judgements issue from them.  
These, these shall do us right,  
When we can nothing do;  
With Herod's of the World shall fight,  
And overcome them too.    
CANT. III. 9 
King Solomon made himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon.  
Ver. 10 He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple, the midst thereof being paved with love, for the daughters of Jerusalem.  
HYMN 55.  

KIng Solomon's Chariot for his Bride,  
Of Wood of Lebanon was made:  
This Chariot bottom was of Gold,  
This Chariot Silver pillars had.  
Covered with Purple, paved with Love:  
But O, how far surpassed by him,  
Who is All love from head to foot,  
To draw all Love to him again.  
Jesus, King Jesus, for his Spouse,  
For the Lamb's Wife, his Bride, hath built  
A far more glorious Chariot, which  
With Love and Power is double gilt:  
Braced with the everlasting Arms,  
Whose covering is eternial Glory,  
Whose substance is a Love that warms,  
Whose Wheels run to the Joy before ye.  
Now blessed be that boundless Love,  
And blessed be that endlefs Power,  
And blessed be that God above,  
That made his Chariot like a Tower.  
This Honour all his people have,  
They go on foot, and yet they ride:  
Thus rides the Princes, when advanced  
In stately Pomp, by Prince his side.    
CANT. III. 11. Go forth, O ye daughters of Zion, and behold king Solomon with the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the day of his espousals, and in the day of the gladness of his heart. 
HYMN 56.  

O That, that blessed day were come,  
When we might meet our Solomon,  
Crowned King of Saints, and Nations, and  
Having the World at his command!  
His Father hath already Crowned him,  
Given him a Title to this thing:  
When shall his Mother's arms surround him,  
And Crown him her eternal King?  
'Twill be the gladness of his heart,  
When he shall once espouse that Spouse:  
When Kingdoms shall their Loves impart,  
And all his Foes caught in a Noose:  
Arise! descend thou Royal Prince,  
Thy Coronation-day is come:  
In Seat of thy Magnficence,  
Thy Church would fain affix thy Crown.  
Thy Mother, Sister, Brother, wait,  
And long to see that blessed day,  
When Sin and Sorrow's out of date,  
And crowned Jesus bears the sway.  
O, when shall Jews and Gentles both,  
Fasten thy Crown upon thy head!  
Gentiles have done it, Jews hold off;  
By both must this be managed.    
Finis Cap. 3.  
Deo gratias.   

CANT. IV. 1. Behold, thou art fair, my love, behold thou art fair— 
HYMN 57  

I That have made and formed,  
By curious Art and Skill:  
The Beauties of the upper World,  
According to my Will▪  
I that behold and see  
Those beauties all the day:  
(Should Mortal eyes but steal a glance,  
'Twould take their Lives away:)  
Yet I say, thou art fair,  
Thy Grace's beauties are:  
My Father's face and mine doth shine  
Upon that Face of thine.  
The trifling Beauties which  
Fond Lovers idolise,  
Are not so fair, nor half so rich  
As thou art in my Eyes:  
O how I love that Soul,  
That's true to God and me!  
My heart's inclined, my Love is blind,  
Their faults I cannot see.  
I'll shortly bow the heavens:  
O how I long to come!  
I will arise, and rend the Skies,  
And fetch my fair One home.    
CANT. IV. 1. — Thou hast doves eyes within thy locks— 
HYMN 58.  

NOw I'll consider in its place,  
And view my Blood-redeemed prize▪  
The sparkling Diamonds of thy Face,  
The Dovelike Beauty of thine Eyes.  
Thou hadst an Eye of Flesh was wont  
To send forth Beams of lustful Fire,  
That after Vanity did hunt,  
And fill thy heart with base desires.  
A wand'ring tempting rolling Eye,  
A Casement opeed to let in Sin:  
But now 'tis chaste, with eyesalve washed,  
And takes diviner Objects in:  
But O, that intellectual Eye,  
Whereby thou seest things unseen;  
Whose objects quite are out of sight,  
That eyes me through the darkest Screen!  
That shines like Diamonds in the dark,  
Or Stars that brighten blackest Night:  
Knowledge and Faith such Power hath,  
To see by Dark as well as Light.  
My Soul admire, and raise thee higher,  
With both these Eyes behold that spark,  
Whose Beams have given thee light and sight,  
That once were blind and in the dark.    
CANT. IV. 2. — Thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from mount Gilead. 
HYMN 59  

THe hair, the Beauty of the Face,  
That taking Ornament;  
That blusheth nothing at disgrace;  
It's cut, it's shaved, it's rend;  
It open lies to all assaults,  
And yet it feels it not:  
The Razors shave, the Sizars cut  
All wrongs are soon forgot.  
My Church, I love thy Patience,  
This I admire in thee,  
Under all injuries content;  
Those that affront thee, win thee.  
Like Goats on Gileads Mountains shorn,  
Stripped of their hairy Fleece:  
Yet not a groan, all wrongs are born,  
Their shearing breaks no Peace.  
This warms thy heart, as hair thy head:  
How ornamental' 'tis!  
When Patience can impow'r a man  
To conquer all he sees:  
With this sweet frame, in love I am:  
It's rare in my account:  
To be forgot, and feel it not,  
Is Patience paramount.    
CANT. IV. 3. Thy lips are like a thread of Scarlet, and thy speech is comely— 
HYMN 60.  

THy rosy Lips with Scarlet dye,  
Gives beauty to thy Face:  
Inflames with love th' Observers eye,  
A thousand beauties has:  
Made red, not with thy Blood, but mine;  
It's from my passion fed;  
No natural Colour in this World,  
Can yield so deep a red:  
O, how I love these ruby Lips,  
I love to hear them speak;  
Thy Prayers and Praises, Nectar sips,  
To me, though faint and weak.  
Thy Doctrines, Counsels, Cordials are,  
To me and those that hear them:  
Thy sharp reproofs are killing darts,  
Yet health to those that bear them.  
My Soul admire, and much desire,  
Thy Soul's admiring Lover:  
Be it thy Grace, thy words to place,  
And tell thy Speeches over,  
As men tell Gold, O, weigh thy Words,  
Thy Speech exactly measure:  
So shall thy King delight to sing,  
And praise this vocal Treasure.    
CANT. IV. 3. — Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks. 
HYMN 61.  

I Love thee, for thy Cheeks, my Spouse,  
A Virgin blush adorns them:  
The modesty that crowns thy Brows,  
A holy shame informs them:  
Have you not been where you have seen  
The blushing Pomegranate,  
All overspread with rosy red,  
As Nature did create?  
Thy Temples shaded in thy Locks,  
With rosy blushes spread,  
Doth much express thy bashfulness:  
True Virtue vails her head.  
Thy guilt and shame, for what's to blame,  
Thou canst not face it out:  
Thy flushings, blush, fears and tears,  
Are beauties out of doubt.  
My Soul! this consternation due,  
Becomes the Virgin-bride  
Of that same bleeding Lover, who  
For thy Salvation died▪  
O let me never, never trace,  
The steps of Sinners bold:  
Nor hide my Sin, but hide my Face,  
As with a blush controlled.    
CANT. IV. 4. Thy neck is like the tower of David, builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men. 
HYMN 62.  

YE eldest Sons of living day,  
Peers of the Upper-House;  
And all you Commoners below,  
Come and behold my Spouse.  
Thy stately Neck, like David's Tower,  
Built for an Armoury:  
Unites thy Body to thy Head,  
Never to part; and why,  
A thousand Shields the promise yields,  
As many Swords thy Faith,  
Tho Hell and Devils do their worst,  
Thy Soul Protection hath.  
Thou shalt not truckle, no nor buckle  
To inimical spite:  
Strong in the Lord thou art, and in  
The Power of his Might.  
Thy Fire-breathing Cannons fly  
In face of all thy Foes:  
For thee a David's Tower am I,  
'Gainst all that thee oppose:  
If sin or men infest thee, than  
Thy Neck a Tower is;  
Thy Soul, though tossed, shall ne'er be lost  
In such a Tower as this.    
CANT. IV. 5. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies. 
HYMN 63.  

THy Breasts, the seat of Love,  
And Nature's Ornament,  
With full-pent milky treasures give  
Thy offspring nourishment.  
Such milky streams do flow,  
To nourish all thy Seed,  
As fruitful Roes that fat their twins,  
And midst the Lilies feed.  
Thy Sons and Daughters are  
Begat from Heaven above:  
A numerous Offa▪ spring will appear  
In that great day of Love:  
Thou hast two Testaments,  
replete with Milk Divine,  
With these thou sucklest all my Saints,  
And mak'st their Faces shine.  
I must admire the man  
That springs from such a Father,  
That strongly draws by Grace's laws,  
The breasts of such a Mother.  
Then drink and thirst again,  
As Babes the Breasts adore:  
Till thou shalt come to thy blessed home,  
And drink and thirst no more.    
CANT. IV. 6. Until the day breaks, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountains of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense. 
HYMN 64.  

THere is a blessed day will break  
A glorious Light will shortly come,  
Whose rays will make the shades betake,  
As frighted, to their lasting home.  
A day will drink up all the Rain,  
And scatter all the Fogs away:  
And fully rout the dreadful train  
Of Clouds, that now Eclipse the day.  
No more shall Sin or Fears bespatter  
The glorious beauty of thy Face:  
No more shall bloody Tyrants scatter  
Their roaring Bulls in every place.  
There is a day and door of hope;  
(I mean, to hasten all I can)  
That will surprise both Turk and Pope,  
And the bloodthirsty wicked man.  
Till then, the mount of Myrrh above,  
And Heaven's hill of Frankincense,  
Must for a while obscure my Love,  
And Person, from the eye of sense.  
But do not fear! from that Ascent,  
As from a Mountain, I can see  
(And did before) how all things went:  
Till then, do thou confide in me.    
CANT. IV. 7. Thou art all fair, my Love, there is no spot in thee. 
HYMN 65.  

MY Love, thou art all fair,  
In thee no spot appears:  
I▪ ve washed thee white, from what was black,  
In precious blood and tears:  
Thy parts are all inspired,  
All Graces in thee shine:  
Each faculty my Love hath fired,  
And charmed that heart of thine.  
Degrees are wanting still;  
'Tis yet thy Infant-state:  
But yet we can spell out a man,  
In Limbs that are not great.  
I'll polish thee, my Dove!  
I'll off with every spot;  
I'll drive the trade till it be said,  
What Graces hast thou not!  
Thy Sin and Guiltiness,  
My Royal Robe shall cover,  
And my imputed Righteousness,  
Shall make thy God thy Lover:  
My Soul! 'tis done for ever:  
For ever praise his name;  
His Blood was shed, thy Sins are dead,  
Never to rise again.    
CANT. IV. 8. Come with me from Lebanon (my Spouse) with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions dens, from the mountains of the leopards. 
HYMN 66.  

ANd now my well-beloved Spouse,  
Since I have set thee free,  
And cleared thy stains, that none remains,  
Now love thyself and me.  
Come, Royal Princess, come with me,  
Thou shalt not come alone:  
My presence shall thy Conduct be,  
Only consent and come▪  
From Lebanon, that Mount of Pleasures,  
And from Amana too:  
These barren Mountains yield no treasure,  
Arise and let us go  
From Lion's jaws, and Leopards paws,  
And all the wicked rout:  
From Traitor's gins, and Spoilers dens;  
Come, I will lead thee out.  
There's nothing can degrade a man,  
Like bruit-Society,  
Or make him from his Essence come,  
Like wicked company:  
Resolved then, I'll leave these men,  
Whom I did once adore▪  
At Jesus call, I'll leave them all,  
And ne'er come at them more.    
CANT. IV. 9 Thou hast ravished my heart, my Sister, my Spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck. 
HYMN 67.  

MY Sister, by the Father's side;  
And Spouse, by all consent:  
Sister adopt, and Spouse elect,  
I'm full, and I must vent.  
My ravished heart hath felt a dart,  
And I am all desire:  
I, who created Fire and Love,  
With Love am set on Fire.  
Something hath smote me from thine eye:  
That eye of Faith, it is,  
That single wounding eye of Faith,  
That makes me love thee thus.  
That dares upon a naked word  
Of Promise trust me so:  
That will secure itself of Love,  
Even whether I will or no.  
The chain is Love, that draws my Love;  
Do thou but say, thou lov'st me:  
It is a chain, I captive am,  
And nothing e'er removes me.  
My Soul! fix this same Eye of Faith  
Upon him steadfastly:  
Fasten the link with soldering Love,  
He's thine eternally.    
CANT. IV. 10. How fair is my Love, my Sister, my Spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices! 
HYMN 68  

THou 'rt fair, my Love, thy Love is fair:  
How fair I can't express:  
Better than Wine; but how much better,  
I leave to thee to guests!  
Love is heart-chearing wine; bestow  
A glass of Love upon me,  
And I'll forget my Sorrows great,  
The wrongs that have been done me.  
I have no thirst but for thy Love;  
Love me, and stay my thirst:  
O do but try to love me; why?  
Because I loved thee first.  
Let no perfume henceforth presume,  
To gratify my wants;  
No Spices sweet, my Nostrils greet;  
There are no sweet but Saints.  
I love them with a pardoning love,  
Their follies I forgive.  
I Love them with a lasting love,  
That shall for ever live.  
Amazement stops my verse and me!  
O Lord, that lov'st me thus;  
O let me never, never be  
Unkind, ungracious!    
CANT. IV. 11. Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honey▪ comb: honey and milk are under thy tongue— 
HYMN 69.  

THe gracious words thy lips adorn,  
Like drops of Honey from the Comb:  
'Tis Canaan's Language newly born,  
From a Divine inspired Tongue.  
Honey and Milk are not so sweet,  
As savoury Speeches dropping down,  
That nourish whomsoever they meet,  
And from a spiritual Fountain come.  
When Lips drop sighs, and Eyes drops tears  
In penitential sight of Sin:  
When Speech drops Praises, and strong Prayers,  
It shows a Honey▪ comb within.  
When nour'shing, and soul▪ fatting words,  
Lie breeding underneath the Tongue:  
And when due season birth affords,  
This, this my Love inspires my Song.  
My Soul, learn this! Are gracious words  
So sweet to Christ thy dearest friend:  
Then don't impose upon his nose,  
The Carr'on stink that base words send.  
Season my Lips with Salt, my God,  
And sift my Language from its dross:  
For why should I so foolishly,  
With Speeches vain contract my loss?    
CANT. IV. 11. — And the smell of thy garment is like the smell of Lebanon. 
HYMN 70.  

NAked, and in thy blood▪ before,  
unpolished, rude and rough:  
I spread my Skirt, and threw quite o'er,  
A Garment large enough:  
And now like blessed Jacob, in  
The Priestly Robe, his Mother  
Vested him with, he passeth fair,  
And goeth for elder Brother.  
Even thus imputed purple smells,  
When on the Sinner thrown;  
Like to a Field which God hath blest:  
Tho borrowed, 'tis thy own.  
The fragrant smells of Lebanon,  
The Mount of Canaan's glory:  
There never was such sweetness as  
These Garments shed before ye.  
When once thou get'st my Garment on,  
Art with my Merits clothed:  
My Father takes thee for his Son,  
And for his best beloved.  
My God perfume my Soul, and vest it,  
And in thy Bosom lay it:  
Upon thy tender Bowels rest it;  
'Tis done, if thou but say it.    
CANT. IV. 12. A garden enclosed is my Sister, my Spouse: a Spring shut up, a fountain sealed. 
HYMN 71.  

MY Spouse! I have enclosed,  
And strongly fenced thee in,  
With rocky Walls, and scorching Fire;  
Thou hast my Garden been.  
If men dare scale the Flames,  
To their own loss they venture:  
I'll keep thee so on every side;  
They'll knock, but shall not enter.  
I'll plant thee with sweet Flowers,  
And every fruitful Tree▪  
And all about I'll make me Bowers,  
And take my walks in thee.  
I'll shut and seal thee up,  
No dirty foot shall see  
Thy heavenly Springs and Water,  
Thou shalt my Fountain be.  
O thou, the Spring of Springs,  
Whose Fountains always run:  
Fountain of Fountains, and all things,  
From thee my Waters come.  
O thou, the King of kings,  
Plant thou thy Garden round:  
Let every walk thy Praises talk,  
In thee my fruit is found.    
CANT. IV. 13. Thy plants are an Orchard of Pomegranates with pleasant fruits, Camphire with Spikenard. Ver. 14 Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and Cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense, Myrrh and Aloes, with all the chief spices. 
HYMN 72.  

COme, now, my Sister, let us go,  
And how see the young of Sets do▪  
The Standarts must not stand, I have  
A better use to put them to.  
These I'll transplant to Paradise,  
With Glory I will fill their faces:  
They must be gone, their work is done,  
The young ones must supply their places.  
The Lambs, the Babes, my Churches breed,  
Are a more rav'shing sight to me:  
Than the Pomegranate full of seed,  
Or all the Arabian spices be.  
The Spikenard, Camphire, and the rest  
Of choicest Aromatic fumes,  
Are worthless, when they do their best,  
Let them be buried in their Tombs.  
But O, the Joy I take to see  
My pregnant Church her Children bear:  
The young ones that convert to me!  
My choicest Heaven on Earth is there.  
Young ones awake, since I do take  
Such pleasure in your budding Graces:  
Repent, Convert, or 'twill be Death  
For you to let me see your faces.    
CANT. IV. 15. A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon. 
HYMN 73.  

IF I a Garden am, thou art,  
O Christ, the living Spring;  
If I have any sprouting Plants,  
The Water thou dost bring.  
No Water, than no Fruit, no growth,  
No Spire can pierce the Clods:  
The Fruit I bear, if it be rare,  
It is not mine, but Gods.  
My heart was dead the other day,  
And then sweet Mercy came,  
And washed it in a Spring of Blood;  
It came to Life again.  
My heart was hard, as I may say,  
As hard as any Stones:  
I drench it in the living Spring,  
And it to softness comes.  
My heart was cold, as cold as Ice;  
Some heat it did require:  
I found the living Waters had  
In them a living Fire.  
Now let thy dying, living blood,  
Stream as from Lebanon:  
Water my wants, and wash my Plants,  
Or we are all undone.    
CANT. IV. 16. Awake, O Northwind, and come thou South, blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out— 
HYMN 74.  

I Must have Air and Wind,  
As well as Water, Lord:  
Or else my Garden, that is I,  
No fruit can ere afford:  
Arise Northwind and South,  
Rough and serene, both best,  
And do thou time their gates and thine:  
In both Is all be blest.  
There's not one Plant will thrive,  
Or Flower hold its scent,  
Unless thy Spirit, Lord, contrive  
To breathe their Nutriment.  
How will the Spices flow?  
How will my Grace's flourish,  
If thy sweet Spirit please to blow,  
And drooping Flowers cherish!  
For loves-sake let me beg;  
O Holy Ghost, thy Grace,  
Thy Breathe, Gifting, Fillings, Seals;  
Let each work take its place.  
If my Beloved come,  
As he a coming is:  
Not finding me and Fruit at home,  
He'll say my heart's not his.    
CANT. IV. 16. — Let my mies beloved come into his Garden, and eat his pleasant fruit. 
HYMN 75.  

MY Garden is thy Garden, Lord,  
Therefore do thou the Winds awake:  
Let sharp and cold North-winds accord,  
With gentle South, and their turns take.  
Sometimes I need a nipping Frost:  
(Lord, not too sharp, lest all be lost:)  
To cross my sin, let me be crossed;  
But Winds serene advantage most.  
Let North awake and stop; but let  
The South awake, and come and blow:  
Too much the North will nip the fruits;  
But O, the South will make them grow.  
O Spirit of Love, and harmless Dove,  
Do thou take wings and fly to me:  
Or else give wings to climbing Love,  
And quickly I will up to thee.  
My Lord, here's little fruit for thee,  
Tho my Soul's Garden do its best:  
But if thou comest, there's Fruit for me▪  
Tho I have none, I shall be blest.  
Thus poor Folks entertain the King,  
And Landlords sit at Tenant's table;  
They have no more, but what they bring,  
Thou should have more, if I were able.    
Finis Cap. 4.  
Laus Jehovae.   

CANT. V. 1. I am come into my garden, my Sister, my Spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice: I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey: I have drunk my wine with my milk— 
HYMN 76.  

WEll! I am come, my Spouse,  
Thy Prayers have given me wings:  
I have accepted all thy vows,  
And tasted all thy things.  
In thee I find my myrrh,  
My honey-Combs I eat:  
Thy Milk and Wine is all Divine,  
Thy Spices all are sweet.  
Thy Plants that I have set,  
Are in a thriving plight:  
Thy heart a flour'shing Orchard is,  
A Garden of delight:  
O, how I joy to see  
My cost not lost upon thee:  
There grows sweet Fruit on every Tree:  
The younger Plants have won me.  
Thy Fruits of holiness,  
Are Aromatic Spices:  
Thy Garden, and thyself no less,  
To me a Paradise is.  
My God, how is it thus!  
Can man relieve his Maker!  
No; but the grafted Cion is  
Of the Stocks life partaker.    
CANT. V. 1. — Eat, O friends, drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved! 
HYMN 77.  

COme now, all you that are my Friends,  
My Church hath made a feast:  
Come fill your Souls with Nectar bowls,  
I call you with the rest.  
I'd have you all partake of these  
Her inexhausted pleasures:  
Come eat and drink her Prayers, and sink  
Yourselves into her treasures.  
Her Lips shall feed you, and her Graces  
Their bounty shall express:  
If Angels come, they shall have some,  
And Joy to every Guest.  
Come then, you drooping Spirits, come;  
Here is a worthy prize:  
And if you please to drink up Seas;  
I'll give her fresh supplies.  
Lord of all store, I thee implore;  
Since what is thine, is mine;  
And what is mine, is thine; This boon  
To grant do thou incline,  
That thou wouldst fill me with thyself,  
And stretch my Soul to hold thee:  
And I shall feast me and the rest,  
With what thy Love hath told me.    
CANT. V. 2. I sleep, but my heart waketh— 
HYMN 78.  

I Am a contradiction, Lord,  
I wake, yet am asleep:  
I am asleep, and yet I wake;  
I both, and neither keep.  
Thus after greatest beams of Love,  
My heart grows cold again:  
As after greatest gleams of Light,  
The Heavens grow big with rain.  
When first I tasted rav'shing sweet  
From thy divinest Love,  
I thought I never more should meet  
With darkness from above.  
But now I am all Ice and Cold,  
My Zeal I cannot keep,  
As if I'd over-drunk myself;  
I'm fallen fast a sleep.  
But yet my hearts awake; I would  
Do better if I could  
The Spirit is willing, Flesh is weak;  
O, make me what I should.  
I would not rock myself asleep:  
If slumber overtake me,  
Rouse up my drowsy Senses, Lord,  
And by thy Power wake me.    
CANT. V. 2. — It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open unto me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night. 
HYMN 79.  

LOve will not suffer drowsiness,  
But kindly wakes his sleepy Spouse:  
Thus Parents wake their children whose  
Dull inclinations cannot rouse.  
Awakening Love a Voyage took,  
In all the Rain, and in the Deep;  
To view the World, and found that part,  
That's called awakened, fast asleep.  
Awak'ning Love the danger saw,  
How sleepy Saints unuseful were;  
How prone the Devil was to Rob  
And spoil them of their precious ware.  
How little love to Christ there was;  
As men asleep they mind him not:  
How soon their Temples by a Nail  
Might pierced be with deadly stroke.  
Awak'ning Love that saw things thus,  
Rouseth them first, with midnight cries▪  
Cries Fire, Fire, O! the Fire of Hell  
Flames out! awake, why don't you rise?  
That not prevailing, turns his voice  
Into a Lovers earnest cry,  
That knocks and bounceth at the door▪  
Cold, wet; Awake my Love, 'tis I.    
CANT. V. 2. It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my Sister, my Love, my Dove, my undefiled One, etc. 
HYMN 80.  

OPen thy heart, my Love,  
And let thy Jesus in:  
And why not open thy heart to me,  
As well as unto Sin!  
Why not for me as well  
As for forbidden pleasure!  
Shall I stand waiting at the door,  
That am thy God and Treasure!  
Shall I, thy Lover, take  
This pains to make thee mine;  
And shall a base and sordid Lust,  
Ensnare that heart of thine?  
It breaks my heart to see  
My Love in Bed with Sin;  
Whilst I the Husband am shut out,  
And may not enter in.  
My Jealous Heart and Eye  
Would prompt my Hand to take  
A Javelin up, and strike thee dead;  
But that my Bowels ache,  
And yearn with Love and Pity:  
Rise then and let me in,  
And I'll forgive thee all that's past,  
And love thee well again.    
CANT. V. 2. It is the voice of my beloved that knocheth— 
HYMN 81.  

HArk! drowsy Soul! whose Voice is that?  
Whose hand that knocks at door,  
That pleads his entrance with such charms,  
I never heard before?  
'Tis my beloved's: O that Love!  
Now in my lapsed state,  
To call me Sister, Love, and Dove,  
And undefiled Mate!  
That pleads his Journey, and his Locks  
Wet with the drops of Night:  
His head bedewed with rain, he fain  
Would enter if he might.  
Lord, break the door, the Spirit saith,  
The Flesh won't let me rise:  
Burst all the Locks and Bolts, and come,  
The Flesh cries otherwise.  
Come Jesus, sweet, and let us meet,  
The better part saith, Come;  
But Flesh and Pleasure cries, No, no,  
No, no! there is no room.  
My God, shall Flesh prevail? 'twill be  
If thou standest neuter here,  
As Candle by a snuff kept down,  
That fain would upward soar.    
CANT. V. 3. 
I have put off my coat, how shall I put it on?  
I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them?  
HYMN 82.  

Canst thou not rise, my Love? I ran  
To help when thou wert cast.  
My dearest Lord, I cannot Can,  
Flesh chains me down so fast.  
Wilt thou not rise, my Dove? I rose  
When dead, to make thee rise:  
My Lord, I cannot will; This Flesh  
So hard upon me lies.  
'Tis night! 'tis dark! my coat is off,  
How can I put it on?  
My feet are washed, and should I rise,  
And make them foul anon?  
Thus Eve her Figleaves stitched together;  
The Bidden made excuses:  
The mild and gentle Jesus stands,  
And puts up all abuses.  
I might have said, Can it be Night,  
When day is at the door?  
Or dark, when he that is the Light,  
Can darkness overpow'r?  
I have put off my Coat; and can't  
I put it on as soon?  
Affronted thus, my Jesus, cried,  
Farewell my Love, I'm gone!    
CANT. V. 4. My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him. 
HYMN 83.  

AS men are wont, when taking leave,  
To wave the hand to parting friend:  
I saw him do't, my heart did heave,  
And all my bowels did extend.  
My Jesus! I shall ne'er forget  
That dreadful black and sad surprise:  
I would have rose with all my heart,  
But at the present could not rise.  
My bowels sounded, when I saw  
His beckoning hand a farewell give:  
I thought I should have died to see  
Him wave his hand, and take his leave.  
As frighted men in dreams would speak,  
But have not power to speak a word:  
My heart assayed, to pray him stay;  
My moving bowels all concurred.  
I haled for breath, and would have cried,  
Stay Lord, I come! but could not utter:  
I plainly saw my loss would be,  
Like riches running down a Gutter.  
My Soul, these damps and dreadful cramps,  
Contract the Sinews of the best:  
My God appear, to me draw near,  
When such Temptations me infest.    
CANT. V. 5. I rose up to open to my beloved, and my hands dropped with myrrh▪ and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock. 
HYMN 84.  

I Rose, I went, I opened the door;  
But I delayed too long  
My dearest Lord was gone before,  
Distated at this wrong.  
Yet left a sweet presume behind;  
The sign he had been there:  
No sooner had I touched the Lock,  
My hands dropped down with myrrh.  
He left me not, till I him left:  
And never left me so:  
But left a virtue still behind,  
To sweeten all my wo.  
Thus Lovers will absent, but then  
Tokens shall blow the Flames,  
And keep the Fire of Love alive,  
And quicken the remains.  
My God my heart's a rusty Lock,  
Oil it with Grace Divine:  
My heart is more, a chained door;  
Burst up this Heart of mine.  
Lay thy perfuming hand upon it,  
And drop thy sweetness in:  
'Twill fire my longings to thyself;  
'Twill out with Sloth and Sin.    
CANT. V. 6. I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spoke— 
HYMN 85.  

JEsus withdraws! Thus when the Sun  
Doth bid the World good-night;  
It leaves it in a Dark and most  
Uncomfortable plight.  
That word, I'm gone! that kill word,  
My heart did rend and tear:  
I little thought his words were Swords;  
Delays denials were.  
I rose, but he was gone from thence,  
And left me all alone:  
I never thought, I'll rise anon,  
Did Tantamount, Be gone:  
If tears would fetch him back, I'd weep  
A Sea to waft him over;  
If prayers, I'd rend the Skies with cries,  
But I'd regain my Lover:  
Woe, and alas! my woeful case;  
Now am I left alone.  
In Fears and Cares, and thousand Tears,  
My Sorrows to bemoan.  
All you that have a Soul to save,  
Take warning by my fall:  
Make no delays, give him no Nay's;  
Rise when you hear him call.    
CANT. V. 6. — I sought him, but I could not find him: I called him, but he gave me no answer. 
HYMN 86.  

ALL you whose tender bowels yearn,  
At full grown misery:  
Lament my case, my blubbered face,  
And pity, pity me.  
I pray to him that heareth prayers;  
But mine he will not hear.  
He hath a bottle for all Tears,  
But mine must not come there.  
I sought him that is found of All  
That seek him heartily:  
But, O my pain! I seek in vain;  
My coming makes him fly.  
He that once loved my Soul, is gone▪  
Whose love was sweet as Wine.  
I call him Love, he calls me Dog;  
Was ever grief like mine!  
My Soul, it was thy Sin, thy Sloth,  
That drove thy Christ away:  
He called, but failed; and 'tis but just,  
Such slight to repay.  
There never was (except 'twere his)  
A grief that bodes so ill:  
My Soul! when he writes, Seek no more  
Do thou read, Seek me still.    
CANT. V. 7. The watchmen that went about the City, found me; they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the Walls took away my vail from me. 
HYMN 87.  

THus when the Anchor's lost,  
The Ship's exposed to Waves,  
With surly Winds and Billows tossed,  
Like greedy open Graves.  
As when the wounded Deer,  
Bleeds with the Arrow shot:  
The rest forsake and come not near,  
And blood▪ hounds take their lot.  
I got me up, and went  
Jerusalem's Streets about;  
With a most full and true intent,  
To find my Jesus out.  
The Watchmen were unkind,  
They smite me, wound and hale:  
The Keepers of the City-Walls,  
They took away my Veil.  
And this by Watchmen too!  
Church▪ Officers they were,  
That should have led me unto Christ,  
Wound me for coming there.  
And Keepers of the Walls,  
The Kingdom's Magistrates:  
Treat me as bad, as if I had  
Done Whoredom in their Gates.  
O what a darksome Night,  
When those that pray and fear,  
Shall be pursued by Law and Spite,  
As Thiefs and Robbers are!    
CANT. V. 8. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love. 
HYMN 88  

YE common People of the City,  
From great Ones I Address to you:  
The Priests and Rulers have no pity;  
They serve my Lord unkindly too.  
If you, or any of you be  
Engaged in this design with me,  
To seek a Jesus, (you may find him;)  
Not I that did so little mind him.  
Then tell him, tell him, I am sick  
With Love, and longing for his Presence.  
Tell him, my Zeal is burning quick;  
Tell him he is my All, my Essence.  
If all the World were Gold, and mine,  
I'd give it all for one sweet smile:  
Could Sufferings fetch him back, I'd bear  
The very Pains of Hell a while.  
My Life's a Death, unless my Lord,  
Will show himself again to me.  
My Death were Life, would he accord  
To lead me where I might him see.  
Since thou canst hide thyself from me,  
Where I may seek and never find thee;  
But I can't hide myself from thee:  
Sweet Jesus seek me, till thou find me.    
CANT. V. 9 What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among Women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us? 
HYMN 89.  

FAirest of Women, tell us, who  
This thy Beloved is,  
For whom thou makest this ado,  
By such a charge as this.  
What is his Name? what is his Fame?  
Pray let us understand?  
We'll seek him too, if all be true,  
And seek him out of hand.  
There is beloved Health and Wealth,  
There are beloved Pleasures,  
There are beloved Friends and Ends,  
There are beloved Treasures.  
There a beloved Temple stands,  
A lovely Structure 'tis:  
There are beloved means of Grace;  
Tell which of these it is:  
O what is thy Beloved, that  
Nothing but him can please thee!  
And what are these complaints, ye Saints▪  
That none but he can ease ye?  
Are you of men the only wise?  
Must Wisdom die with you?  
Discover thy Beloved Prize,  
And tell us what, and who.    
CANT. V. 10. My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand. 
HYMN 90.  

THou bottomless Abyss of Love!  
O help me now to set thee forth.  
Give Inspirations from above,  
And let me stammer out thy worth.  
Look how well tempered white and red,  
Sets out the beauty of the Face!  
In him all beauty sits enthroned,  
And all Perfections take their place.  
White as the Light; and God is Light;  
This Tincture speaks him perfect God:  
Red, as was Adam's Earth; it speaks  
Manhood, in which that God abode.  
But White and Ruddy, both in one,  
Speaks him a Person, God and Man:  
The white, the badge of Innocence,  
Never was black, nor never can.  
But red as blood, and red with blood,  
Drawn by the sins that we lay in.  
The white breaths Joy & Peace to Saints,  
The Red breaths blood to sinful men.  
This is the Man whose absence kills me;  
Chiefest of thousands he's to me:  
This is the man whose presence fills me:  
O! could I meet him! where is he?    
CANT. V. 11. His head is as the most fine Gold— 
HYMN 91.  

HIS Head the seat of Wisdom is,  
Most lovely to behold:  
His Understanding infinite,  
Shines like the purest Gold.  
This head of his is lifted up  
Above the starry Skies,  
When all his Enemies' heads lie low,  
Shall sink, and never rise.  
He is the head of all his Saints  
By way of Eminence,  
More worth than all their body is,  
As Gold to single-pences.  
He is the Church's head, from whence,  
By way of Influence,  
As from a Spring of Life they have  
Their motion, strength, and sense.  
The head of Powers, which he rules  
By Sceptre and his Rod:  
O what a glorious head hath he!  
The head of Christ is God  
Wonder not at me then, if I  
Complain as almost dead;  
For I have lost my God, my King;  
O, I have lost my Head!    
CANT. V. 11. — His locks are bushy, and black as a Raven. 
HYMN 92.  

HIS locks (not worn for Pride,  
Nor yet to set out sin;  
Nor yet to vaunt a swelling Tide  
Of naughtiness within)  
Speak him a Nazarite;  
No Razor shaves his Head,  
Serving the Lord with all his might:  
A Separate indeed.  
His vow of separation  
Lays strongest bonds upon him;  
He shall be called a Nazarite,  
His locks shall well become him:  
His locks are curled and black,  
The vigour of his strength  
Will make his Enemies go to wrack,  
And quell his Foes at length.  
You glory in your Hair,  
The curl of your Tresses;  
Come lay aside your filthy Pride,  
And to him make Addresses.  
This is the man I want;  
This Person I must have:  
O, I must quickly find him out,  
Or I must find my Grave.    
CANT. V. 12. His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set. 
HYMN 93.  

I'll tell you farther, That if such  
A Person you shall see,  
Whose eyes like Doves are washed with milk  
And water; This is Herald  
He hath a kill eye, will pierce  
Through Adamantine Ears,  
And wound a Rock but with a look,  
And melt it into Tears.  
Eyes that are clear, and fitly set,  
That can see all things past,  
And all things present, and to come,  
As long as time shall last:  
Whose eyes are purely chaste: That never  
Opened to let in sin;  
That never did the least endeavour  
To take foul objects in.  
If such a one you meet, whose eyes  
Like flames and lamps of fire  
Strike dead, and yet give Life; that do  
Confound, yet stir desire.  
This is the man I seek; a man  
Allseeing, and All-Eye;  
Tell him, if such a one you meet,  
'Tis for his Love I die.    
CANT. V. 13. His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies dropping sweet-smelling myrrh. 
HYMN 94.  

HIS cheeks two fragrant beauties are,  
Whose Odoriferous smell  
Like beds of spices fresh and rare,  
So sweet no tongue can tell.  
Or like the richest flowers in May,  
Whose scent perfumes the Air;  
Whose colours beautify the day,  
And all men's wonder are.  
His lips are lily-white, and fair,  
The products of them sweet;  
His Counsels, Kisses, Comforts, Calls,  
All Cordials in them meet.  
The man that spoke as no man spoke,  
Each word an Oracle;  
The man that spoke, and never hath▪  
Transgressed a syllable.  
Your Popes and Councils all have erred,  
Those glittering trifles all;  
But my Beloved's lips ne'er moved  
Amiss, nor never shall.  
This is the man my Soul seeks; oh!  
That I could see that Face!  
Them Ruby Cheeks and Lips again,  
In some due time and place!    
CANT. V. 14. His hands are as gold-rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright Ivory overlaid with saphires. 
HYMN 95.  

HAnds that have made the heavens all,  
And all the Hosts therein:  
That made the Sun, the Moon, the Stars,  
And you and me, and men.  
And when the work was spoiled quite,  
And overturned by sin:  
These hands of his went fresh to work,  
And made all up again:  
His Belly, where his Bowels dwell,  
Are working out our aid;  
Like Treasures in an Ivory box,  
With Saphires overlaid.  
Yearns to distressed Souls, that be;  
His heart within him rolls:  
He mindeth not his own concerns,  
But sinner's case condoles.  
'Twas Bowels nailed him to the Cross,  
'Twas Bowels made him die;  
'Twas Bowels set his Blood abroach  
For such a one as I.  
He pities all the World, and all  
His suffering Saints: But he  
Had no Compassion for himself:  
O, hath he none for me!    
CANT. V. 15. His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold— 
HYMN 96.  

HIs Legs like marble pillars, set  
On Sockets of the finest Gold:  
The man I seek, and can't forget,  
Bears up himself, and all the World,  
Upon the basis of his strength,  
Supported are all things that be:  
Their heights & depths, their breadth and length;  
Who Heaven and Earth sustains, that's he.  
His People and their Graces stand,  
Not on their own Legs, but on his:  
Moore firm than ever Adam did,  
That walked the rounds of Paradise.  
Those little Pillars soon let fall,  
What was entrusted to their power:  
But on this Marble pillar shall  
His Saints be kept till their last hour.  
Jehovah Shaddai, is his name;  
The strong and mighty God is he;  
There is no Tongue can speak his fame,  
The best but lisp his dignity.  
This is my well beloved one;  
In all the World there's not the like:  
This is the man for whom alone,  
I am in this distressed plight.    
CANT. V. 16. — His countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the Cedars. 
HYMN 97.  

HIs Countenance, who looks upon it,  
Takes prospect of fair Lebanon.  
The objects were presented from it,  
Dazzled the Eyes of lookers on.  
The various lofty Cedars there,  
And several sorts of other Trees.  
The Aromatic Fruits, there, were  
Graceful and grateful to the Eyes:  
Yet nothing like the prospect which  
His shining Countenance sends forth:  
So fair, so beautiful, so rich:  
O, how shall I advance his worth?  
O that I could but see that face,  
That once so strongly drew my heart!  
O that I could enjoy that place,  
That once I had beyond desert!  
But I have lost him, he is gone,  
Which makes my Eyes run down with tears:  
I cannot find him; left alone,  
I'm almost drowned in doubts and fears.  
Yet this I'll say, I feel his hand,  
Although I cannot see his face,  
And in his Presence still I stand,  
And he supports me with his Grace.    
CANT. V. 16. His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O ye daughters of Jerusalem. 
HYMN 98.  

THE gracious words that drop  
From his sweet Mouth, so free;  
Are sweeter than the sweets, that top,  
Sweetness itself to me▪  
In short, this is the man,  
He's altogether love,  
And altogether lovely; can  
You find me such a Dove?  
You Daughters, this is he:  
This my Beloved is:  
No tongue can teach, no Language can  
Express that love of his.  
The drops that fills the Seas,  
Go count them one by one,  
Then join the number, if you please,  
Of Stars, till there be none.  
To these the Sands, the Hairs,  
All th' objects of the sight;  
Hyperbolise Immensity,  
And run to Infinite.  
This my beloved is:  
He is the Total Sum  
Of all perfection; and the Bliss  
Of all that to him come.    
Finis Cap. 5.  
Laus Deo.   

CANT. VI 1. Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee? 
HYMN 99  

STrange character, as e'er we heard!  
But is he so indeed?  
We'll seek him too, if this be true,  
We'll seek him with all speed.  
This is the Man that only can  
Put all things out of doubt:  
That will be Joy, and Heaven to us,  
If we can find him out:  
Come then and let's together seek him,  
As▪ hungry men their food.  
And if it be our Bliss to meet him,  
He'll be our chiefest good.  
O how our hearts are set on fire!  
Pray help us seek him too:  
O how we burn with hot desire!  
We'll seek as well as you:  
My soul! desires get desires,  
As Bellows blow the Flame;  
As I have seen, where wood is green  
And Coals to Billets came.  
'Tis all the glory Mortals can,  
Bring to the blessed Jesus,  
To others to commend his Name,  
Whose matchless worth will please us.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 50.  

IS this the Christ— The lover of thy soul?  
Is this the Blessed— Whose loss thou dost condole?  
These praises high— Have set our hearts on fire:  
Let us come nigh— We burn with hot desire.  
We'll seek him too— We know not where to mend us,  
We'll go with you— If you'll so far befriend us.  
O happy day— That ere we met with you,  
To lead the way— If what you speak be true:  
This is the man— If we can find him out,  
That only can— Put all things out of doubt:  
O, this is he— Whom if we find, we find  
All things that be— And can enrich the mind.  
My Soul! 'tis good— Desires get desires;  
'Tis others food— As fire kindles fires:  
Thus have I seen— The Bellows raise a flame,  
When wood was green— And Coals to Billets came.  
'Tis all the glory— Poor Worms can bring to Jesus,  
To lay before ye— The matchless worth may please us▪     
CANT. VI 2. My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the garden, and to gather lilies. 
HYMN 100  

COme then, and let us go  
Into his Gardens, where  
The Spices smell, and Lilies grow▪  
And we shall find him there.  
Where fruitful People meet,  
As Lily-roots abound:  
In Beds all placed, and Spices sweet,  
There he is to be found.  
Where he may feast himself  
With most Divine delight,  
And have the sweetest tastes of love;  
Where Saints meet in his sight.  
Where holiness abounds,  
And where his Spirit breathes,  
And where his Father's Praises sounds;  
With these his Life he leads.  
Come then, and let us go,  
And leave these barren Fields!  
For here's no Flower, no Fruit, and so  
Nothing true Pleasure yields.  
The Worlds a barren Heath;  
The Church his Garden is,  
And all his Saints are all his Plants;  
His Presence is their bliss.    
CANT. VI 3. I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies. 
HYMN 101.  

O What a mercy'tis, that I  
Deserted thus, should feel a glance  
Of love dart from his pleasing eye,  
Thus wounded by desertions lance!  
I've lost him; yet I find a ray,  
That drives my fright and fears away:  
whither▪ re, I pine in bitterness;  
I'm sure he's mine, and I am his.  
Thus have I seen a sudden ray,  
Dispel the Clouds and gild the day.  
Under Vine-leaves a cluster hid,  
And faith that can all fears outbid.  
How bright is Faith in Bridal-robe,  
Whose language is, My Lord, my God  
My Christ, whom I Monopolise,  
And can him call my only prize!  
There is in that same pronoun My,  
A choice and sweet Divinity.  
What is a glorious God to me,  
If I can't lay my claim to thee?  
I say, he's mine, and I am his,  
And humbly seal it with a kiss:  
Angels, is Heaven for none but you?  
O! this to me is Heaven too.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 50.  

BLess me my God— What beam of Heaven is this?  
Displayed abroad— The day desertion is:  
I've lost my Love— And yet I find a ray,  
Dart from above— That drives my frights away.  
I'm sure he's mine— I am sure I am his:  
Howe'er I pine— And mourn in Bitterness.  
Thus have I seen— The Sun by sudden ray;  
The clouds contemn— And shine and gild the day.  
There is a cluster— Under the Vine-leaves hid,  
When faith shall muster— And false fears outbid.  
How bright is Faith— When in the Bridal-robe,  
A full blown Faith— Whose Language is, My God.  
My Christ is all— Whom I Monopolise,  
And can him call— My Love, my only Prize,  
And say, I know— He's mine, and I am his:  
And in it grow— Sealed with a holy kiss.  
Angels admire— Is Heaven for none but you?  
Let me aspire— O, this is Heaven too!     
CANT. VI 4. Thou art beautiful, my love, as Tirzah: as comely as Jerusalem: terrible as an army with banners. 
HYMN 102.  

I'll now unveil myself,  
I'll cloud my love no longer,  
I'll now appear to quench your thirst,  
And satisfy your hunger.  
I love those holy Fires,  
That kept themselves alive;  
When almost drowned with Seas of Tears,  
Thy Graces yet did thrive.  
Thou art all fair, my Love;  
Thou art so very comely:  
Thou art to me so beautiful,  
That I admire thee only.  
Like Tirzah's famous City,  
Where Kings did keep their Courts,  
Or like that fair Jerusalem,  
Whose strong impregnant forts;  
Whose terror struck their foes,  
Made them to fly the place:  
Such is thy Valour, O my Love,  
Such Thunder in thy Face.  
Rome, Hell, the World and Flesh,  
The Devil, Death and Sin:  
Under thy Hand do trembling stand,  
Such terrors are they in.  
It was my strength, not thine,  
That bore so dark a test:  
The strength is mine, by which thou shalt  
Soon vanquish all the rest.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 104.  

THou art fair, my Love,  
Thou art very comely,  
Thou art beautiful;  
I admire thee only.  
Tirzah's famous City,  
Where Kings kept their Courts,  
Makes me think on thee,  
Whose impregnant forts  
Terror-strike thy Foes,  
Conquer all that come;  
With thy Swords and Shields,  
Battering Hell and Rome.  
World, Flesh, Devil, and  
Sin, Death, trembling stand:  
Nothing stands before  
Thy Victorious hand.  
Thy Arms Armies are,  
Thy Faith a sharp Spear.  
All thy Graces are  
Swords to make them fear:  
Such art thou, my Love,  
With thee is my strength:  
Armed by me, thou shalt  
Conquer all at length.     
CANT. VI 5. Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome him— 
HYMN 103.  

SAint, turn away thine eyes from me,  
For they do overcome me.  
Thy piercing Eye-beams wound my heart;  
Turn them, O turn them from me.  
'Tis not thy fleshly Eyes, my Dear,  
For they are my disgust:  
No better they then filthy Sties,  
And Caterers for Lust.  
But 'tis those inward Eyes that pierce me;  
Those souly beams of Light,  
That searching eye of strong Desire,  
That found me in the Night.  
That shot its rays about the dark,  
And sparkled all with Fire:  
And that same Eye of Faith it was  
The life of that desire,  
That was so restless, till it found  
Its truly longed-for Jesus;  
And was well-nigh in sorrow drowned,  
Till I had said, I'll ease you.  
Eyes that were turned unto me,  
When I was turned from thee,  
Have made me fear the letting out  
Of too much Love upon thee.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 104.  

TUrn away thine eyes,  
They do overcome me:  
Beauty in them lies,  
Matchless; turn them from me.  
Eyes are tempting things,  
Mortals find them so▪  
Eyes have conquered Kings,  
Brought their Sceptres low.  
'Tis not fleshly Eyes,  
They are my disgust:  
They are sinful Sties,  
They are darts of Lust.  
That Eye of Desire,  
That did find me out:  
And sparkling with fire,  
Shot its rays about.  
Restless, till it found  
Its beloved Jesus,  
And in Sorrow drowned,  
Till I said, I'll ease you.  
That same Eye of Faith,  
Whose bright darts could kill  
All that Sorrow, saith,  
Hopeless trusting still.  
Eyes that turned to me,  
When I turned away:  
O, these eyes undo me,  
Conquering get the day.  
I fear, O my Saints,  
I should Love too much:  
My heart strongly pants;  
Love to you is such.     
CANT. VI 5. — Thy hair is a flock of goats that appear from mount Gilead. 
HYMN 104.  

NOw I will praise her for her hair,  
The modest covering of her head;  
The emblem of that Loyalty,  
That in subjection's hand is lead.  
Her hairs like Counters; cast the sum,  
Numberless numbers of her sins,  
And having washed my feet with tears,  
With hairs to wipe them she begins.  
The Goats on Gileads mountains bear  
A long and soft, and useful hair:  
But no such Hair as hers, whose tresses  
Adorns her face with pleasing dresses.  
woe to the Crown of Pride, whose hair,  
Whose long and bushy Locks declare,  
A brutish Custom every where,  
And only used for a Snare.  
The long haired Gallants of these times,  
Wear Horses mains on humane Faces:  
Turn men to Monsters, and the work  
Of God and Nature much disgraces.  
God in a bush did once appear,  
But in their bush hath never been▪  
They'll never leave till Satan come,  
And thrust a burning Candle in.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 111.  

THe covering of her head,  
With which she is bestead.  
Her hair▪ the emblem is  
Of lovely Loyalty;  
Subjection under me:  
O what an honour ' 'tis!  
With these she casts the sums,  
As well it▪ her becomes,  
The number of her sins;  
And having washed my feet,  
With hair, a Towel meet,  
To wipe them she begins.  
Wo to the Crown of Pride,  
Who to her Sins beside,  
Hath added every where,  
Such loathsome heads of hair,  
Used only for a Snare,  
To those that foolish are.  
That marry Horfes mains,  
To humane Heads▪ whose gains  
They must receive in Hell:  
God in a Bush was seen,  
But never hath he been,  
Where this proud Bush doth dwell.     
CANT. VI 6. Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep, which goeth up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them. 
HYMN 105.  

MY Spouse, I'll add, to praise thee more,  
And will repeat again:  
Think not, that I'll abate my Love,  
Distasted at thy sin.  
Those teeth are washed and double set,  
They eat my Flesh and Blood:  
I am thy spiritual food of Life,  
I am thy chiefest good.  
Thy grinders are thy Faith in me,  
Thy Faith a stomach hath.  
O, how I love to see thee seed!  
How lovely is thy Faith?  
I'll wash thy teeth in Milk, and be  
A Breast, a Feast, a Table,  
A Saviour to thy Faith and Thee:  
Fear not, for I am able.  
I'll make thy Faith bring forth her fruits,  
As twinning Sheep their young:  
I'll water both the stem and roots,  
And then I'll freely come:  
I'll come with joy and great delight,  
To see my Flocks a feeding,  
As Shepherds use; I'll bless my sight,  
To see my Sheep a breeding.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 111.  

I'll praise my Church yet more,  
To what I said before;  
I will repeat again,  
She shall not think that I,  
'Cause she was faulty, fly,  
Or in Affection wane.  
Her teeth wherewith she chews  
Her food, that Life renews,  
Are washed and double set;  
I am her spiritual food,  
I am her chiefest good:  
I'll never her forget.  
Her grinders are her Faith,  
Her Faith a stomach hath,  
To feed upon my Flesh;  
The washing is my blood:  
I'll cleanse her in that flood,  
And so her soul refresh.  
Her Faith is fruitful too,  
More than false faith can do,  
Or barren doubts and fears:  
She eats my Flesh, and drinks  
My Blood, and no man thinks  
What lovely Fruit she bears.     
CANT. VI 7. As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks. 
HYMN 106.  

HAve you not been, where you have seen  
The red and blushing pomegranate,  
All overspread with Rosy-red,  
As nature's bounty did create?  
Her Face a Virgin's blush adorns,  
Spread with all ruby bashfulness:  
A Face of Brass she highly scorns,  
But comeliness commends her dress.  
No crisp profanes her modest hair;  
Content with Nature's Ornament.  
She scorns to go profanely bare;  
Or give to Pride a foolish vent.  
'Tis Nature, not base Art adorns her:  
No Hypocrite in Face or Heart;  
A painted piece, Religion scorns her;  
The Hypocrite and God must part.  
She blusheth, 'cause she cannot blush;  
And fears, because she fears no more.  
Sense of her Sin doth always flush  
Her modest Face, and grieve her sore.  
My Soul! this Consternation due,  
Becomes the holy Virgin-Bride;  
Of that same bleeding Lover who  
For thy Salvation gladly died   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 112.  

HAve you not been where you have seen,  
The red and blushing Pomegranate,  
All overspread with Rosy-red,  
As Nature's bounty did create?  
Thy Cheeks and Temples, O my Spouse,  
Modesty crowns, and so thy Brows:  
Thy Face a Virgin-blush adorns  
Spread with a ruby bashfulness;  
A face of Brass thou highly scorns,  
But comeliness commends thy dress.  
Thy Gild and Sin in which to blame,  
As with a Pencil paints thy shame.  
No Crisp profanes thy modest hair;  
Content with Nature's Ornament▪  
Thou scornest to go profanely bare▪  
Or give to pride a foolish vent:  
'Tis Nature, not base Art adorns thee:  
A painted piece, Religion scorns thee.  
My Soul this consternation due  
Becomes the holy Virgin-Bride,  
Of that same bleeding Lover who,  
For thy Salvation gladly died.  
Bold steps in Sin, let me not trace;  
But guilty, hide my blushing Face.     
CANT. VI 8. 
There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.  
Verse. 9 My dove, my undefiled is but one: she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bore her.  
HYMN 107.  

I Am no Bigamist,  
I have no Concubines,  
It's only one Church I admit;  
One Child; I have no Twins:  
My Church is more to me,  
And so she ever shall,  
Than all things in the world that be,  
Could I prevail at all.  
Could I but gain her Love,  
My heart would Captive be,  
And all my Pains, would be my gains,  
My Cross, my Melody.  
Let there be Threescore Queens,  
And Fourscore Concubines,  
And Virgins numberless, that catch  
Fools in their snaring gins.  
My Loved is but one,  
That one is more than they:  
There is more worth in her alone:  
The Sun 'tis makes it day,  
Away false Beauties all,  
My loved one, is One;  
I love but one, and she shall call  
Herself, my Spouse alone.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.  

MY Church is more to me than all  
The things that are, or ever shall:  
My heart's a Captive to her Love,  
I'm held in these desired chains,  
As recompensed for all my pains;  
Could I but her Affections move.  
Let there be Threescore Queens in Thrones,  
And Fourscore Concubines at once,  
And Virgins numberless also,  
This one of mine outshines the Day,  
She is but one, yet more than they;  
And more to me, as Angels know.  
Thus several Members in one Man,  
Epitomised into a span,  
Concentre still to make him one:  
Thus Seas have many Rivers, yet  
All these in the same Ocean met,  
Make up but one Reception:  
So is my undefiled Love,  
Kingdoms her greater Members prove,  
And lesser Churches are her parts;  
And every Saint a Member is:  
And they are many, yet all this  
Is but one Center-nest of hearts.     
CANT. VI 9 The Daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her. 
HYMN 108.  

HOw lovely are my precious Saints  
In others Eyes, as well as mine!  
Let Baalam speak: or else let those  
That never found her yet Divine!  
'Tis easy to commend the way:  
No man can speak against the Truth;  
The natural Conscience hath a ray:  
But happy he, the Chase pursueth:  
'Tis hard to yield the heart: but why  
Should not the heart be yielded? when  
The way of Saints, the best of ways,  
And they are sure the best of Men.  
And why not yield the heart? when as  
The God of Saints, the best of Gods,  
And his Love is the best of Loves,  
And their Loves are the best, by odds?  
Come all ye Angels of the Heavens,  
Come all the World, I'll join with you:  
Come help me Love, my loved Prize:  
I love her; do you Love her too.  
Let Queens admire their own desires:  
And Concubines their lustful fires:  
I'll love my own, and only Love,  
And nothing shall my Heart remove.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.  

THe people saw her sparkling Rays,  
And did upon her Beauty gaze,  
And called my Church a blessed one:  
And Queeus and Concubines, whose hearts  
Had never felt what love imparts,  
Yet spoke her commendation.  
Thus Baalam cried, How comely are  
Thy Tents, O Israel? how fair?  
Yet had no heart to yield the fort.  
'Tis easy to commend the way;  
The natural conscience hath a ray:  
But O! 'tis hard to yield the heart.  
And why not yield the heart now? When  
My Saints are sure the best of men;  
And this their way the best of ways.  
Their God the best of gods, and when  
Their Work the best of works, and then  
The best of Joys for endless days?  
Let Queens admire their own desires,  
And Concubines their lustful fires,  
And Virgins dote on whom they please.  
I'll love my own and only Love,  
And nothing shall my heart remove;  
'Tis thine my Dove, here take the Keys.     
CANT. VI 10. Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners? 
HYMN 109.  

WElcome the time, that brings the news,  
Of the Returning of the Jews:  
Whose Kings are all in Armour dressed,  
And Zions foes are dispossessed.  
A new created people, which  
Unlookt-for, shall the World enrich,  
And give my Foes a final fall,  
And make the Nations tremble all.  
This is the lovely Morning-light,  
That breaks out of a darksome Night;  
And gradually advanceth forth,  
Like to the Sun's resplendent worth.  
Heirs of the Promise, though kept out;  
Whose are the Covenants, no doubt,  
Tho long sequestered for their sin,  
And sad the case that they were in.  
Lo, now the Morning twilight dawns,  
And they come marching o'er the lawns.  
Equiped for blood, like men of War;  
Their sleeping Souls awakened are.  
O, what a glorious sight is this!  
O what a heart-rejoicing ' 'tis!  
That those that at a distance stood;  
Return the purchase of my blood!   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.  

NEws from the Confines of the East,  
There Kings in Armour all are dressed,  
To make the Nations tremble all.  
A new created People, which  
Unlook for, shall the World enrich,  
And give my Foes a final fall.  
This is a lovely Morning light,  
That breaks out of a darksome Night,  
And gradually advanceth forth:  
First, as the Moon in dusky fair,  
Then as the Sun with light most clear:  
Who's this? and what her splendent worth?  
Heirs of the Promise, though kept out;  
Whose are the Covenants, no doubt,  
Tho long sequestered for their sin.  
Lo, now the Morning twilight dawns,  
And they come marching o'er the lawns,  
From out the Dungeons they were in.  
O! what a glorious sight is this?  
O! what a heart-rejoicing 'tis,  
That now the purchase of my Blood,  
In all my Saints completed is,  
And Jews and Gentiles coalesce,  
That heretofore at distance stood!     
CANT. VI 11. I went down into the Garden of Nuts, to see the fruits of the Valley, and to see whether the Vine flourished, and the Pomegranates budded. 
HYMN 110.  

ROuse thee, O Israel,  
Child of the Valley, where,  
Put from the presence of the mate;  
Sad thy rejectings were.  
O thou hast been to me,  
Garden of Nuts: so hard,  
So dry, such husky Shells; from thee  
All comforts were debarred.  
There was a Kernal, but  
There was no coming at it;  
By unbelief thou wert, as if  
For thy destruction fatted.  
At last I heard in thee,  
A rattling of the bones,  
As if they would together come;  
And real sighs and groans.  
I will go down and see  
Whether the Vines are good,  
And Grapes abound, and give us hopes,  
And the Pomegranates bud.  
If so, the work is done;  
Thy Foes are put to flight:  
To Rocks and Mountains they shall run,  
For shelter, if they might.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124▪  

O Israel,  
Child of the Valley, where  
No Tongue can tell,  
What's thy afflicted state,  
Sequestered from  
The presence of thy Mate:  
Whose doom was just,  
For casting off my fear,  
And me so soon,  
Hence thy rejectings were.  
Thou'st been to me,  
Garden of Nuts so hard,  
So dry, such Husks,  
Couldst not be opened:  
Kernel there was,  
But none upon it fed:  
Thy unbelief  
Did thy return retard;  
And slighting me,  
Thy Prayer was not heard.  
At last, I hear  
A rattling of the Bones,  
As if they'd come  
Together suddenly:  
Thy God will come,  
And see how all things lie▪  
Is it a thing  
That's real? Are there groans,  
And tears, and fruits,  
And supplications?  
O, doth the Vine  
Flourish! the Grapes abound,  
And give us hopes!  
Do the Pomegrantes' bud?  
Hath God inspired  
Their hearts with real good?  
Thy God will come,  
If these be in thee found,  
And lead thee forth;  
With safety thee surround.     
CANT. VI 12. Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib. 
HYMN 111.  

ZION awake! the day is come;  
Rouse as a Lion from thy den:  
Th' alarm sounds, that ne'er did yet:  
My Spirit is up. Awaken then:  
You Angels get your Chariots ready,  
Prepare you for this longed-for day:  
Hast, hast, come, I am dressed already;  
My Soul's a wing, I cannot stay.  
Amminadibs' Chariots drove fast;  
But never drove so fast as mine:  
Amminadib was not in such haste,  
Nor flew so fast on wings of time.  
A willing God, a willing People,  
Both hot upon the same design;  
They're both agreed; there's not a scruple,  
To interpose to while off time.  
Our Hearts are swifter than our Charets;  
We'll both conspire from our places:  
Thou here, and I from lofty Garrets,  
We'll lift this World from of its basis.  
My Soul admire! what hast he speeds,  
To fetch his Captives out of thrall?  
With winged flames to help their needs,  
That pickled lay in Salt and Gall.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124.  

ROuse! there is life,  
The longed-for day is come:  
Th' Alarm sounds,  
Where it ne'er sounded yet:  
Their hearts have ears,  
They're pierced to the quick.  
I'll now go down,  
And do what's to be done;  
My heart's on fire▪  
I'll be their Light and Sun.  
You blessed Angels, get you Chariots ready:  
My Royal Spirit  
Is up, I must away:  
My Soul is all  
A-wing, I cannot stay:  
Amminadib,  
That drove so fast and steady,  
Had not my haste:  
Come, I am dressed already.  
A willing God,  
And willing People met,  
With resolutions stronger than the Charets▪  
They from below,  
I from my lofty Garrets▪  
O, what a great  
Day's this, When in a net,  
This wicked World,  
My Foes, are all beset!  
My Soul admire!  
With what a hast he speeds,  
To fetch his Poor,  
His Captives out of thrall,  
This many years,  
Pickled in Salt and Gall!  
He comes amain,  
And drives his fiery Steeds,  
Like winged flames,  
To help them at their needs.     
CANT. VI 13. Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee: what will ye see in the Shulamite? as it were the company of two armies. 
HYMN 112.  

REturn, return, O Shulamite;  
Return, return to me:  
Thy God would bring thee back again;  
Messiah waits for thee.  
'Twill be the Nations wonder, when  
The Power of this Command  
Shall knit thy Sinews, giving Life  
And Vigour to thy hand.  
This voice, Return, shall rouse thee up  
From dead sleep thou art under,  
And Spirit thy benumbed Limbs:  
'Tis like the voice of thunder.  
Wake, Judah, gird thy Harness on:  
Wake to the Battle now:  
Wake Israel, join thy forces with  
Thy sister Judah's bow.  
Two Armies, like two floods shall twist  
Their streams of fire together,  
And drink the sinful Nations up,  
And make their Glory wither.  
Proud Babel now shall tumble down,  
And all her Kings shall fall:  
Now Antichrist hath run her race:  
Shall be no more at all.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124.  

REturn, return,  
O Shulamite, return,  
Return thou Daughter of fair Zion hill:  
O, how I long!  
My Soul is fainting till  
Thy God shall bring  
Thee back, and make thee burn  
With love to thy  
Messiah dear, and mourn.  
Return, return,  
And make the Nations wonder:  
Now shalt thou feel  
The Power of this command:  
I'll give it force,  
Thou shalt it not withstand:  
I'll spirit that word  
With life, and make it thunder,  
And wake thee from  
That dead sleep thou art under.  
Wake Judah, wake,  
And gird thy Harness on:  
Wake israel, wake,  
Wake to the Battle now:  
I'll give the World  
To thee, thy armies too,  
Shall drink the sinful Nations up, and come  
And build their Trophies  
Zions mount upon.  
Now is the time,  
Ten shall a thousand chase:  
Proud Babel now  
Shall tumble down before ye▪  
I'll make her stoop,  
And all her Kings adore ye.  
Now Antichrist,  
Thou'st run thy cursed race:  
Now Israel,  
Strike home, and take their place.      

CANT. VII. 1. How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O princes daughter! the joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. 
HYMN 113.  

COme Princes Daughter, come,  
Born of the Royal Blood:  
My Father is thy Father, whom  
To serve's thy chiefest good.  
I see thy feet are shod  
With preparation for  
A sweet returning to thy God,  
Whom once thou didst abhor.  
How welcome are thy goings?  
How beautiful thy feet?  
These buds that blossom from thy doings,  
To me are dearly sweet.  
There's, not a step thou takest,  
Towards thy Messiah dear;  
But drops a Jewel to enrich  
The World both far and near.  
Jewels are not so rich,  
As steps that Retrograde:  
't is enough to raise a pitch  
Of Love I never had.  
Pride not thyself for this;  
Let me have all the praise,  
Who to thy steps did strength confer,  
And did this Building raise.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.  

COme Daughter, born of Royal blood,  
The King of Heaven thy Father is;  
He now awakes thee with a kiss:  
The day is come, so long withstood.  
Thou art to him so dear,  
Thou never needest fear.  
I see thy welcome feet are shod,  
With preparation from above:  
Thou that didst hate, beginnest to Love,  
A sweet returning to thy God.  
How welcome are thy goings?  
How welcome are thy doings?  
The buds that blossom from thy feet;  
The very Bones that turn and move;  
In th' hollow of thy Thighs I love:  
All these to me are rarely sweet.  
Jewels are not so rare,  
Nor can with them compare.  
Pride not thyself, give God the Praise,  
That is the great Artificer,  
Did to thy steps this strength confer,  
And did this hopeful Building raise.  
To him thou ow'st thy birth,  
And more than thou art worth.     
CANT. VII. 2. Thy navel is like a round Goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat, set about with lilies. 
HYMN 114.  

NOw I will tell the World the wonder:  
A barren Church grows fruitful; she  
From whom in many hundred years,  
I had no Children born to me.  
Her Navel like a fountain filled,  
Held Goblets of infused Grace:  
Her pregnant Belly breeds a stock;  
Like heaps of Wheat her number was.  
Nations are born at once; they flock  
To her as Doves to Windows get.  
This is a Harvest to the Lord,  
Exceeding what he ere had yet.  
When thousands could Conversion date,  
From some one Sermons powerful word:  
This done in Zions infant-state,  
What will her manhood then afford?  
Go Gentiles, go, your case condole,  
A thousand Sermons, scarce one Soul.  
Thy Teacher's fish, and nothing catch;  
They knock, but who lifts up the latch?  
But I'll unite you unto those,  
Shall' crease your numbers as their own:  
They shall be drops where Water flows,  
Or grains in heaps of Wheat become.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.  

NOw I will tell the World a wonder,  
The barren Church grows fruitful: she  
From whom for many hundred years,  
I had no Children born to me:  
But now she fertile grows;  
Her numbers no man knows.  
Nations are born at once: they flock  
To her, as Doves to windows get:  
Her Pregnant Belly bears a stock,  
For numbers like the grains of Wheat:  
And these like Lilies white,  
Are pure in my sight.  
This is a Harvest to the Lord;  
Beyond itself in Infant-state,  
When thousands could conversion date▪  
From some one Sermons powerful word.  
Tho since none such hath been;  
I'll make it so again:  
You Gentiles go, your case condole:  
A thousand Sermons, scarce a Soul▪  
Thy Teacher's fish, and nothing catch:  
They knock, but none lifts up the Latch:  
I'll fertile mercy's broach  
And take away Reproach.  
I will unite you unto those,  
Shall' crease your numbers as their own:  
They shall like drops, where water flows,  
Or grains in heaps of Wheat become;  
A Joyful day to Zion:  
A Pillow soft to lie on.     
CANT. VII. 3. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins. 
HYMN 115.  

THy breasts fhall give their milk to Kings  
And Princes be nursed up by thee:  
Tyrants! there shall be no such things:  
By Thine shall Kingdoms ruled be.  
Thy Nobles shall the Sceptres sway,  
The Crownsand Thronesshall all be theirs.  
Those that will not thy feed obey,  
Shall rue the day in Blood and Tears:  
When I the Tyrant's cause to cease  
This shall produce a world of peace:  
No more shall men for fearing God  
Taste the Red-Dragons smarting Rod:  
Salvation shall for Bulwarks stand,  
And Walls of Fire about thy place:  
And God at all times near at hand,  
Shall safe▪ Protect thy blessed race.  
Thy Breasts shall nurse up Rulers; so  
Pastors according to my heart  
Shall be so well inspired and fit,  
That Souls they shall by shoals convert:  
And with this holy Seed thou shalt  
All under the broad Heavens fill:  
Thou shalt Jehovah's praise exalt,  
And live according to his will.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.  

THy Breasts shall give their milk to Kings,  
And Princes be nursed up by thee:  
Tyrants! there shall be no such things:  
By thine shall Kingdoms ruled be.  
O what a bliss is this,  
The World at quiet is.  
Thy Nobles shall thy Sceptres sway,  
The Crowns and Thrones shall all be theirs;  
Those that will not thy Seed obey  
Shall rue the day in blood and tears.  
O what a bliss is this!  
The world at quiet is.  
When I the Tyrant's cause to cease  
This shall produce a world of peace:  
No more shall men for serving God,  
Taste the Red-Dragons smarting Rod:  
O what a bliss is this!  
The world at quiet is.  
Thy Breasts shall nurse up Rulers: so  
Pastors according to my heart,  
Shall be so well inspired, and fit,  
That Souls they shall by Shoals Convert:  
O what a bliss is this!  
The world at quiet is.  
And with this holy Seed thou shalt,  
All under the broad Heavens fill,  
Thou shalt Jehovah's praise exalt,  
And live according to his will:  
O what a bliss is this?  
The world at quiet is.     
CANT. VII. 4. Thy Neck is as a Tower of Ivory. 
HYMN 116.  

THy Neck, O Zion, is a Tower  
Of whitest Ivory:  
No more to bear the pinching Yoke  
Of force and Tyranny.  
The Irons of Unscripture modes,  
And auk Imposed Forms,  
No more shall gall thy flesh, and Soul,  
I'll free thee from those storms.  
The Idols now betake themselves  
To Cliffs of craggy Rocks.  
Thy God is risen: light is come:  
And spight's a Paradox.  
Arise and shine: O Zion dress thee:  
It is a pleasant day,  
And I thy God am come to bless thee:  
Send all thy fears away.  
O let thy Stately Neck bear up:  
Thy Head advance it higher;  
Now all thy Yokes are burst and burnt,  
Put on thy best Attire.  
Admit my easy Yoke, and think  
Thyself a freeman there  
Chained to my Laws, my Saints and me  
Thy Neck receives no scar:    
CANT. VII. 4. — Thine Eyes are like the fish-pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim:— 
HYMN 117.  

WAter thy Plants, Jerusalem:  
Salvations at the door.  
Unseal thy latent Fountains: weep  
Till thou canst weep no more.  
Time was, when as of sense bereft  
Thou couldst not broach a tear,  
But now the hardened Rocks are cleft,  
And waters gushing there.  
Thine Eyes like Hesbons' Fish-pools stand  
Within Beth-rabbins gate,  
That moistens the adjacent Land:  
And doth it fruitful make:  
I love to see that pierced heart,  
That pierced me and mine:  
The tears that wash my wounded feet,  
To me are drops of Wine.  
Thou'st wept enough: now weep no more,  
But go rejoicing on:  
I'll banish all thy fears and cares,  
And bid them all be gone.  
Repentance breaks two hearts at once;  
The Sinners heart, and mine:  
Tho Sin be great, the Mercy-seat  
Shall cure that heart of thine.    
CANT. VII. 4. — Thy nose is as the tower of Labanon, which louketh toward Damascus. 
HYMN 118.  

O How I joy to see,  
Damascus brought to me:  
The persecuting Nations all,  
With Zion shall agree.  
To see fair Lebanon,  
Her stately Tower look,  
Towards her great foe Damascus, and  
In peace each other brook.  
Damascus, and the Mount,  
Shall reach their hands, and join;  
The Lion with the Lamb lie down,  
In this great day of thine.  
Thy Nose shall smell a sweet  
Perfume from Pagan Lands,  
And breathe a welcome Air, to greet  
Their reconciled bands.  
And would the Churches now,  
Their breaches seek to close:  
I'd hast and come, and quickly turn  
The heart of all their foes.  
Would Saints unite yet more,  
And all their fires cover:  
I'd make their Enemies yield themselves▪  
And bring Damascus over.    
CANT. VII. 5. Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple— 
HYMN 119.  

THy head like Carmels crimson mount,  
replete with light, as that with flowers:  
Erects itself, and doth surmount  
Above all human earthly Powers.  
As Carmel did overtop the Hills,  
And far transcend their excellence:  
The Glory of my Zion fills  
The World, and takes pray▪ eminence.  
The mountain of the Lords great house,  
Above the tops of Mountains rose:  
'Tis now fulfilled: O Carmel rouse,  
Exalt thyself above thy foes.  
Lift up thy head Jerusalem,  
I've made thee Lord of all the Earth:  
Thy sceptre's in the hand of them  
That are men of Renown and Worth.  
And as thy hair upon thy head,  
In numerous Unites overspread:  
So shall thy Purple Judges fill  
With righteous Laws, the World half dead.  
For Muninment and Ornament,  
Hair is the Glory of the Head:  
So shall thy wholesome Edicts spread,  
And Justice be in Triumph led.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.  

LIke Carmels crimson mount,  
Such is my Church to me:  
My Zion, I account  
Above all things that be:  
I will her praise  
Above the Moon,  
The Stars, the Sun,  
Her honour raise▪  
Thy head doth raise its top,  
Above all humane Powers:  
Their Boughs I'll have thee lop,  
And pull down all their Towers:  
And then shall we  
Rejoice to see,  
Fair Carmel be,  
In high degree.  
The Mountain of the house  
Of God, shall top the hills:  
And Zion shall advance  
Her rod against their wills.  
Great Zion shall  
By force of Arms,  
And milder charms,  
O'er top them all.  
Thy Purple Judges shall  
Like hair in Unites spread:  
Send forth such Laws that all  
The People shall be glad:  
Then shall they praise,  
And lively sing:  
For Zions King,  
Their Voices raise.     
CANT. VII. 5. — Thy king is held in the galleries. 
HYMN 120.  

AWake, O Zion: rise and shine,  
Put thy best Garment on:  
Tho all the World 'gainst thee combine,  
Thy King comes marching on.  
Lift up thine Eyes, behold those Clouds,  
Those lofty Galleries:  
There he Erects his Throne, and makes  
His Glory fill the Skies.  
There shalt thou look on him, whose heart  
Was pierced by thy sin,  
And thou shalt mourn to see those wounds,  
And yet rejoice therein.  
There never was so great a day;  
Zion thy King doth come,  
And in these Galleries makes a stay,  
Till thy great Work be done.  
O rend the Heavens, Lord, and come  
Thou down for Zions cause:  
Deliver thine from Sin and Rome,  
And all her Popish Laws:  
And make thy People once again,  
The great Hosannah sing,  
And Spirit every sort of men,  
To Worship Zions King.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.  

O Zion! rise and shine,  
Put thy best Garments on,  
Tho all the World combine;  
Thy King comes marching on:  
Behold those Clouds,  
His Person lies  
In Galleries,  
And there he shrouds.  
Now shalt thou on him look,  
Was pierced by thy Sin,  
When thee he once forsook,  
'Cause thou forsookest him:  
Now shalt thou mourn,  
And yet rejoice,  
With Heart and Voice,  
Thy God is come.  
There never was a day,  
So welcome to the Saints,  
As when he comes away,  
To make up all their wants.  
O rend the Skies:  
O come away,  
Make no delay,  
Poor Zion cries.  
Hosanna then we'll sing,  
And Hallelujah too▪  
We'll Worshiship Sions King,  
We'll praise him all anew.  
In Heaven! so  
Thy Kingdom come,  
Thy will be done,  
In Earth below.     
CANT. VII. 6. How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! 
HYMN 121.  

I Don't repent my coming down;  
These Galleries are to me a Throne:  
I'll get me here a new renown:  
Into new Heavens I am come.  
Ye blessed Angels, gird yourselves,  
To wait my royal motions thither:  
Your trumpets sound & shake the ground;  
Let you and I rejoice together.  
I'll see my new created Bride,  
I'll let out all my heart's delight,  
I'll put down all her sinful Pride,  
And Pride myself in her blessed sight.  
And, O! how fair, how pleasant are  
Those sweet delights I now shall take!  
New Earth, new Heavens, all things new,  
These shall new Loves in me create.  
Come then, beloved Zion, come,  
Be not afraid; no distance can  
Foment a jealousy: There's none  
Shall love thee more than God and Man.  
O, let thy thirsty craving heart,  
Imbibe and drink me fully down:  
My Graces shall their good impart,  
My merits give thee great renown.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.  

I Come, and done't repent,  
Into another Throne:  
To Zion am I sent,  
To her I love alone:  
No labour lost,  
To come and see,  
Beloved she,  
My heart loves most.  
Ye blessed Angels come,  
And wait my Royal motions:  
'Twill be your honour; come,  
‛ I will give you new promotions.  
You Angels blow,  
Your trumpets sound,  
For I have found,  
A Heaven below.  
How fair and pleasant are  
Those sweet delights I take?  
New heavens! new Earth! and those  
New Loves in me create.  
Let me prefer,  
My longed for Bride,  
And let me Pride  
Myself in her.  
O, let thy thirsty heart,  
My Soul! imbibe him down,  
And never from him part:  
'Tis his and thy renown.  
There's none that can,  
ere be so dear,  
Or come so near,  
As God and Man.     
CANT. VII. 7. This thy stature is like to a Palmtree, and thy breasts to clusters of the Grapes. 
HYMN 122.  

ZION, thou art a Palm,  
Under great pressures growing:  
Thy branches, the great Ensigns are  
Of Victory overflowing.  
The more the weights were hung  
On every tender Bough:  
The straighter, upright, every branch  
Doth towards Heaven grow.  
Ride on triumphantly,  
And make thy Charets fly:  
Thy Martial word is Victory;  
Ride on victoriously.  
The Branches of the Palm,  
Shall Crown thy glorious Head:  
Thou shalt enjoy a blessed calm,  
Thine Enemies all are fled.  
Thy well-grown Breasts are full,  
As clusters filled with Wine,  
To nourish all thy Children small,  
And make them all Divine.  
Now Zion bless thy King,  
Whose conduct doth the work,  
And down shall all his Enemies bring,  
The Devil, Pope and Turk.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 147.  

ZION, thou art a Palm,  
Under great Pressures growing,  
Whose Branches, Ensigns are,  
Of Victory overflowing.  
Triumphantly,  
Thy Chariot shall  
Ride over all  
Victoriously.  
The more their weights were hung  
On every tender Bough:  
The straighter, upright, thou  
Dost toward Heaven grow.  
Thy Martial-word  
Is Victory:  
Thy Foes shall fly  
Before thy Sword.  
The Branches of the Palm,  
Shall Crown thy glorious Head▪  
Thou shalt enjoy a calm:  
Thine Enemies all are fled.  
Then shalt thou say,  
To Zions King,  
I owe this thing,  
To get the day.  
Thy welcome Breasts are full,  
As clusters filled with Wine,  
To nourish great and small,  
And make them all Divine.  
Now march, O Zion,  
The Praises sing,  
Of thy great King,  
And Judah's Lion.     
CANT. VII. 8. I said, I will go up to the Palmtree, I will take hold of the Boughs thereof: new also thy Breasts shall be as Clusters of the Vine, and the smell of thy nose like Apples. 
HYMN 123.  

IT is a pleasant sight to see,  
The Nations flocking in:  
As Doves unto the Windows flee,  
Repenting of their sin▪  
I will take hold of thee, saith one▪  
O let me be thy Brother!  
Give me one Closter of thy Grapes,  
One Apple, saith another.  
Beat up thy Drums for Volunteers,  
Set up thy Standart, Zion!  
To bring the Kings, and all their Peers,  
To worship Judah's Lion.  
Thy Enemies now shall bow to thee,  
And suck thy Breasts their fill,  
And shall be satisfied to see  
Fair Zions raised Hill.  
O israel, bud and blossom out,  
And fill the World with fruit:  
Let the Expense be what it will,  
Thy God will thee recruit.  
Thy smell is sweet to all that come,  
Their smell is sweet to thee:  
All Nostrils filled with sweet perfume!  
O blessed day to see.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 147.  

NOW they begin to love,  
That hated thee before:  
The Kings and Powers above,  
Cringing shall thee adore:  
O blessed sight!  
To see them flock,  
With all their stock,  
To Zions light.  
Give me a Bough, saith one,  
O let me be thy Brother:  
Give me one Cluster more;  
One Apple, saith another.  
Beat up the Drums,  
Thy Noble Peers,  
Are Volunteers,  
Where Zion comes.  
Thine Enemies now shall bow,  
And suck thy Breasts their fill:  
And satisfied now,  
Shall see thy raised Hill:  
Then shall they sing,  
hallelujah,  
hallelujah,  
To Zions King.  
Blossom, O Israel,  
And fill the World with fruit:  
Come, what Expenses will,  
I'll always thee recruit:  
Come sing this Song,  
The day is ours,  
Against the Powers  
That raged so long.     
CANT. VII. 9 And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine, for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep, to speak. 
HYMN 124.  

A Wake, O Zion! open thy Mouth,  
Wide●s thou canst, for I will still it▪  
Come and drink down my Spirit of Truth;  
Upon thy heart I'll largely spill it.  
I'll pour it out as sweetest Wine,  
As once of old I did at first:  
Brimful I'll fill that heart of thine,  
Come drink it down, and slake thy thirst.  
These liberal draughts shall make thee speak,  
And utter such transcendent matter,  
Into the Mouths of men asleep,  
That they shall wake, and they shall utter.  
Thy dead shall live, and those that lay  
Securely sleeping in their sin,  
Shall now awake, and weep away,  
The woeful case that they were in.  
No more shall men complain their hearts,  
Like straight necked Vessels take in little:  
They cannot speak what Grace imparts,  
And for a great sum yield a little.  
Enlargements now shall speak the praise  
Of Zions King, where e'er we come:  
And those that had not words to say,  
For Christ before, now praise him home.   

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.  

AWake, O Zion! open thy Mouth,  
Come and drink down my Spirit of Truth.  
Open thy Mouth wide as thou canst:  
Let it crave what it can, I'll fill it:  
My Holy Spirit, I'll largely spill it,  
And fully answer all thy wants.  
I'll pour my Spirit out like Wine;  
To th' brim, I'll fill that heart of thine,  
As once of old, I did at first:  
These liberal Draughts shall make theespeak,  
And powerfully thy Silence break:  
Come drink it down, and slake thy thirst.  
Now shalt thou my high Praises utter,  
And out with such transcendent matter,  
Into the Mouths of men asleep,  
That they shall wake. Thy dead shall live,  
And joining with thee, Praises give  
To God and me; Thanksgivings keep.  
No more shall men complain their hearts:  
Can't utter what free Grace imparts.  
Like straight necked Vessels take in little:  
Enlargements shall be common now,  
And fill your Souls you know not how,  
And make you full that have been fickle.     
CANT. VII. 10. I am my beloved's, and his desire is towards me. 
HYMN 125.  

YOu glorious Angels, sound your Trumpets,  
This is the Wedding▪ day:  
King Jesus and his Saints agree,  
Loves to each other pay.  
Give me thy heart, saith he, my Son,  
And for that Heart of thine;  
Lest thou shouldst want a heart, I'll come,  
And freely give thee mine.  
Now view the Smiles that Crown the Face  
Of this exalted Bride▪  
That now's about to take her place  
By her Beloved's sided.  
Renowned Jesus! Art thou mine?  
Since 'tis thine own desire:  
To thee myself I now resign:  
My heart is all on fire,  
With flames of Love, to thee my King;  
Thou mine, and I am thine:  
'Tis Heaven to me, thy Face to see;  
I'm thine, and thou art mine.  
May this days love more stable prove,  
Than Hills and Mountains strong;  
Let Jesus Christ the subject be,  
Of my Eternal Song.    
CANT. VII. 11. Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the Fields: let us lodge in the Villages. 
HYMN 126.  

THE Marriage being agreed upon,  
Between the Bridegroom and the Bride▪  
When will this blessed Jesus come,  
To tie the knot that must be tied?  
Wilt thou a public Wedding make?  
Inviting all the World unto it?  
No, no! retirement we'll take;  
But Angels, none shall see us do it.  
There are such persons, and such places,  
From the World's eye obscurely hid,  
And there will we exchange Embraces,  
There, there will we be Married.  
'Tis secret Paths, and private Walks,  
Known to none else but thee and me:  
'Tis Closet-breathing, unheard talks▪  
That knits the knot between me and thee.  
I would not sell my secret Prayers  
For more than thousand pounds a year:  
I would not lose my stolen tears,  
For all the World's rich treasure there.  
When I locked up from the World's eye,  
Am all alone in Meditation:  
Be sure my Christ is standing by,  
And most at large in Revelation.    
CANT. VII. 12. Let us get up early to the Vineyards, let us see if the Vine flourish, whether the tender Grapes appear, and the Promegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves. 
HYMN. 127.  

THE Vines and tender Grapes,  
And the Pomegranate buds:  
The newborn offspring, that are weak,  
But shortly will be studs,  
In sight of these, my dear,  
I'll show my love to thee:  
As Children draw the Husband's love,  
Thus mine is drawn from me.  
Come see, and be the Bride  
Of this most glorious Groom,  
And lay your matters all aside,  
And to the Wedding come.  
You new converted are  
As much concerned as I:  
Flourish and dress yourselves, prepare,  
The Bridegroom draweth nigh.  
Take us, for we are thine,  
And are our own no longer:  
We wish ourselves were more Divine,  
We wish our Love's were stronger.  
Thine only Will we be,  
And thine Eternally:  
O Rule, and Teach, and Govern us,  
As well as save, pray I.    
CANT. VII. 13. The Mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved. 
HYMN 128.  

O What a joyful Spring is this!  
The Mandrakes give their smell:  
That lay all Winter buried in  
The Earth, as in their cell.  
Zion was dead, but is alive;  
The sweet perfumes of Grace  
Begin to bless the World, and yield  
Their scents in every place.  
The Converts, both the new and old,  
Are full of pleasant Fruit:  
And all laid up for thee, my Love,  
To correspond thy suit.  
Thus do the streams their tribute pay  
To Seas from whence they spring:  
Now shall both Males and Females say,  
Our Fruit to thee we bring.  
How rich is Zions' King that day,  
When all his Saints shall woe him,  
And bring their Treasures, and shall pay  
Themselves attribute to him?  
What joy, when but a single Soul  
Is Married unto Jesus!  
But O, what Joy, when Nations shall!  
O, how that sight will please us!     

CANT. VIII. 1. O that thou wert as my brother that sucked the breast of my mother, then should I find thee without, I would kiss thee, yet I should not be despised. 
HYMN 129.  

WErt thou my brother, Lord,  
I could believe thy love:  
Or hadst thou sucked my Mother's Breasts,  
I could my fears remove:  
And think, 'twere not below  
Thyself to make me thine:  
Alas! thou art too far above  
This low estate of mine.  
Thou art a glorious Prince,  
The Angels thee adore:  
And I the vilest worm that lives:  
This makes the wonder more.  
Will't thou be mean like me,  
And be with Flesh possessed,  
And fellow-man, and brother be,  
And suck thy Mother's Breast?  
Well then! I'll kiss thee now;  
No more thy distance dread;  
Thus veiled in Flesh, I'll dare approach,  
And own thee as my Head.  
Flesh of my Flesh, and Bone;  
O Christ, I see thou art:  
Now I'll converse with thee alone,  
And thou shalt have my heart.    
CANT. VIII. 2. I would lead thee, and bring thee into my Mother's house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my Pomegranate. 
HYMN 130.  

MY Christ! how welcome would I make thee,  
Wouldst thou but visit where I dwell!  
I and my Mother would embrace thee,  
And Joy to see thee at our Cell.  
My Mother would instruct me where  
Her best and choicest Junkets lie:  
And I would entertain thee there,  
As blest in thy sweet company.  
I'd bring thee out my spiced Wine,  
Made of the Juice of Pomegranate,  
And thou shalt have this heart of mine,  
Inflamed with Love at highest rate.  
I will thee feast with all my best,  
And strive attendance due to give:  
Thou shall have me, and all the rest,  
Thy own, so long as we shall live.  
I will end eavour, such a life  
Shall pleasing be to thy define,  
And speak thy Praise, till it shall raise  
Within my heart an holy fire.  
Only he pleased to come, and lend,  
Assisting Grace to this endeavour:  
If I by Ague-fits grow cold,  
Turn them into a burning Fever.    
CANT. VIII. 3. His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me. 
HYMN 131.  

MY work is great: O stay my head;  
Infuse that Wisdom from above:  
And let thy strength my weakness wed,  
And with infirm'ty fall in Love.  
My head is sick, my heart is faint;  
As overpow'rd with my task:  
I thee with all my Grief acquaint,  
And thy Assistance humbly ask.  
The left and right hand of thy Power;  
Outward and inward help must give:  
Thy arms about me in this hour,  
Embrace me must, and make me live.  
O, my Redeemer, with thy Arms  
Refresh the heart of fainting me.  
Let me experience thy Love-charms,  
Till I am more in love with thee.  
Then shall my Charets run a pace;  
No rubs shall hinder their swift motion:  
The Wheels anointed with thy Grace,  
As Ships ride fast upon the Ocean.  
Thus the warm hand on aching head,  
And circling Arms about the loins,  
Revives a man that lies half dead,  
And under difficulties pines.    
CANT. VIII. 4. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love until he please. 
HYMN 132.  

MY King is gone to rest,  
And resteth in his Love:  
Hath placed himself where he thought best,  
And never will remove.  
What pity than it is,  
For us to break his ease;  
Or give the least disturbances,  
Or wake him till he please.  
He only knows his time;  
He knows his time to rise:  
Then he'll awake and progress make  
To do his enterprise.  
Delays are dangerous  
To us, but not to him:  
He never stays, but his delays  
Have his Advances been.  
He cannot come too soon;  
He never stayed too long:  
To his bedside your prayers may come,  
With other Saints along.  
With these you may awake him,  
When seeming fast asleep:  
But if you shall by Sin forsake him,  
O, this will wound him deep.    
CANT. VIII. 5. Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness leaning upon her beloved— 
HYMN 133.  

UPon the Wings of fame it flies,  
To all the Nations round:  
That God hath oped Judah's eyes,  
And made his Grace abound.  
Who's this! and what a thing is this,  
That Jew's of rude Behaviour;  
Should at the last Messiah taste,  
And own him for their Saviour?  
This news awakens all the Earth,  
Sounds like the Voice of Thunder:  
Never was such a Sight before,  
Never was such a Wonder.  
What Judah turn! What Israel,  
That killed the Living Lord,  
And basely nailed him to the Cross;  
The man which they abhorred!  
What they return!. and all at once!  
They and their Children too!  
And shall his imprecated Blood,  
A healing Virtue show!  
O blessed day! Jehovah raise  
My heart to praise thee more:  
Let all the Lands now clap their hands,  
And Zions King adore.    
CANT. VIII▪ 5. — I raised thee up under the Appletree: there thy Mother brought thee forth, there she brought thee forth that bore thee. 
HYMN 134.  

I Saw thee in thy Father's Loins,  
And in thy Mother's Womb:  
When Eve, under the Appletree,  
Was working out thy Doom.  
I raised thee then, when thee I saw,  
Condemned by Adam's fall:  
Didst eat the Fruit, as well as he,  
The Father of us all.  
The Woman and her Seed was raised,  
By th' Woman and her Seed:  
Thus the same hand that gave the wound,  
Did help in time of need.  
I saw thee, when I died upon  
The cursed Tree, the Cross,  
All in thy Blood, as well as I,  
With all thy Sins in gross.  
I raised thee then; my Blood cried, Live,  
To those that made me die:  
I built thee up a Tower of Love,  
Upon Mount Calvary.  
Keep humble then, O Zion, and  
Think of thy Pedigree:  
Tho I exalt thee thus, don't thou  
Exalt thyself, but me.    
CANT. VIII. 6. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm— 
HYMN 135.  

MY God since I am listed under  
So great a General as thee:  
Let me not fail to break in sunder,  
The Enemies' Force, what ere it be.  
Set me a Seal upon thy heart,  
As did the great Highpriest of old:  
On judgement's Breastplate grave by art,  
The Names of Israel's Sons enroled.  
O let me lay my careful head,  
Upon that Pillow of thy Love:  
And feel myself so kindly led,  
Into thy very heart, my Dove.  
Set me a Seal upon thy Arm;  
Upon thy mighty Shoulders bear me;  
And guide me thorough, that no harm,  
Or Cowardice may ever fear me.  
Let it be now, as when of old,  
I on thy Palms engraven was:  
When thou didst all my walls uphold;  
Again Lord, let it come to pass.  
Then will I open the Silent doors,  
And make all Creatures give thee praise:  
The slumbering Earth, the Seas that roars,  
Shall each contend thy Name to raise.    
CANT. VIII. 6. — For Love is as strong as death, jealousy is as cruel as the grave— 
HYMN 136.  

BOast of thy Triumphs, Death!  
O Time advance thy Wings!  
Love hath as many kill Darts  
As thou hast deadly Stings.  
When Christ shall Arm his Love,  
And gird his Bowels on:  
His Enemies shall before him fall,  
And Death itself undone.  
Observe the World, and see  
What conquests Death hath made:  
How many Kings▪ and such like things,  
In silent graves hath laid.  
Such Conquests in his Strength,  
King Jesus will obtain:  
His Jealousy will rage at length,  
And he alone shall reign.  
No strength shall stand before him,  
No Ammunition Force.  
He'll Slay the Kings that wont adore him,  
And Love shall have its course.  
Then shall we be at rest,  
And Peace on every side:  
Victorious Love will have it so,  
When he asserts his Bride.    
CANT. VIII. 6. — The coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. 
HYMN 137.  

HAve you not seen the Desolations  
That veh'ment Flames have made;  
What multitudes of Habitations,  
In dust and rubbish laid?  
How fiercely without all respect,  
To things or persons had,  
It quickly works its sad effect,  
And makes men's cases bad?  
Thus will the just revenging God,  
Before him send a Fire;  
And with a smarting burning Rod,  
Our blood on them require.  
Now Fire for Fire, Blood for Blood,  
City for City, shall  
Be fired down; he'll quench his Wrath  
In Blood, and make them fall.  
Now Babel's Towers all shall fall,  
And all her Props come down:  
The bitter Cup she must drink up,  
And off must come her Crown.  
My God make haste, why stay thy Wheels!  
Why stay thy Charets, Lord!  
O, why so long, before thou come,  
According to thy word?    
CANT. VIII. 7. Many waters cannot quench Love, neither can the floods drown it— 
HYMN 138.  

Waters' that quench the fire, can't  
Put out the Fire of Love:  
Immortal Love nor drowns, nor dies;  
Its life is from above.  
His Love to his, will make its way,  
To rid us out of thrall:  
There's none shall stand at that great day,  
That don't before him fall.  
Be wise ye Princes of the Earth,  
And kiss the Son of God:  
His Anger fumes, who's he presumes  
To urge his Iron-rod?  
His Love shall bring a flood of Fire,  
Like Noah's Water-flood:  
Topping the Mountains in his Ire,  
That cannot be withstood.  
My Soul admires the Power of Love:  
Love's all, for Gods is Love:  
His Foes, as soon may quench the Sun,  
As this vast Love remove.  
If one small spark of Love in us,  
Can live in Waters deep:  
Much more his glorified Love,  
Alive in Seas will keep.    
CANT. VIII. 7. — If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be condemned. 
HYMN 139.  

WHat is the price of Love, my King?  
What shall I give thee for a spark?  
Will all my substance buy the thing?  
Away fond Worm! thou'rt in the dark.  
Love never yet was bought or sold;  
Come all ye hungry thirsty Souls;  
The price of Love is yet untold:  
Come without money, fill your bowls.  
▪ 'tis a mistake, to think that Christ,  
Did ever purchase Fathers Love:  
'Twas Love, by which he did subsist;  
'Twas Love that brought him from above.  
Tho 'mongst the Sons of men, their Love  
Is bought and sold for worldly pelf:  
Yet never did thy God above  
Erect a Market for himself.  
His love is free: come Souls, and see  
How undeserved his kindness is,  
While Sinners, while ungodly, we  
Are called to take this Love of his.  
Nor can the Sinner at his need;  
Purchase this Love with all his Gold:  
Free Love, free Grace, is all we read:  
Christ's Love is neither bought nor sold.    
CANT. VIII. 8. We have a little sister, and she hath no breasts: what shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for? 
HYMN 140.  

WE have a little Sister, Lord,  
That hath no Breasts, as yet;  
There is no place for means of Grace:  
O do not her forget.  
Thy Servants are greatly athirst  
That joyful day to see:  
When thou the Cords and Yokes shall burst▪  
From her as well as we.  
What shall we do for those that lie  
In Nature's dungeon still▪  
When wilt thou speak for them that die  
For want of Zions Hill!  
Those that have neither Milk nor Breasts,  
That still lie weltering in  
The Blood of uncoverted State:  
O call them out of Sin.  
Our Sister hath a precious Soul  
To save, as well as we.  
Would all the World were thine, and not  
A Rebel we could see.  
O say thou to our Sister, Come,  
Leave Babel to her flames:  
Let her not perish in the doom  
Of Babel's wretched names.    
CANT. VIII. 9 If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver: and if she be a door, we will enclose her with boards of Cedar. 
HYMN 141.  

HOw welcome were that blessed news,  
To the whole Nation of the Jews,  
When Elect Sisters shall return?  
When newborn hope, and panting strength,  
Tho but a little, comes at length,  
And hard and soft together mourn?  
We'll blow the blossoms: not a spark  
Or glance that twinkles in the dark,  
But shall be raised into a flame.  
Of every Wall, we'll make a Tower,  
Of every twig we'll make a Bower,  
And turn a drop into a rain.  
A silver Palace we will make her,  
In the day we undertake her;  
With Cedar-boards we will enclose her,  
And all the riches Love can find  
In her vast Stores, shall be resigned,  
To make her happy in the closure.  
Lord something give to work upon  
(Creation is thy work alone)  
And gladly we'll to them repair  
That lie in darkness; great and small,  
With Death's black shadow covered all,  
And make them teem that barren were.  
Come then, you Nations, all you Kings,  
And Nobles, flock to Zions wings;  
There's healing for your wounded hearts.  
And let the Wealth of Zions King,  
And so your own advantage, bring  
Your Souls to him from Satan's darts.    
CANT. VIII. 10. I am a wall— 
HYMN 142.  

I Was a heap of Dust  
And Rubbish, quite forsaken:  
Disparkt and into Forest turned,  
No care of me was taken.  
Help me to bless the Lord;  
Ye Idol-Nations come:  
Let's Praise the Lord with joint accord,  
And bless his Name alone.  
I found his favour when  
My case was worse than yours:  
I was a prize in his fair eyes,  
Such help free Grace procures.  
And now I am a Wall;  
Whose strength shall ever stand:  
The matter of it is Freestone;  
Laid by Free-Grace's hand.  
The Cement is the Blood  
Was shed upon the Cross:  
The height of it o'retops the Skies.  
Will you this Love engross?  
Tho you have cruel been,  
Both to the Saints and me:  
Yet if this call shall fetch you in,  
I'll be a Wall, you see.    
CANT. VIII. 10. — And my Breasts are Towers— 
HYMN 143.  

ALL Praises bring to Zions King:  
See what I was, and what I am:  
My hills of Flesh could not refresh  
The thirst of one poor sucking Lamb.  
Children I had, but ill brought up;  
No Sustenance within their powers:  
They always drank of Moses Cup;  
But now through Grace, my Breasts are towers.  
And thus ye Gentiles, 'twas with you,  
When almost all your pipes were cut:  
Your Teachers into Corners drew,  
Your Pastors into Prisons put.  
Your Breasts were cut, that should have given  
Their Milk to them the Beasts devours:  
But thanks be to the God of Heaven,  
That now through Grace▪ your Breasts are towers.  
Let Lambs of Christ now frisk and dance,  
And sport themselves on Zion hill:  
For God will now their heads advance;  
Their Mother's Breasts with fatness fill.  
And though our milky Breasts have been,  
Like Fountains stopped by higher Powers.  
(It was our Glory, but their Sin);  
But now through Grace, our Breasts are towers.    
CANT. VIII. 10. — Then was I in his eyes as one that found favour. 
HYMN 144.  

NOw doth my thankful heart rebound,  
And fain would raise me higher,  
To bless the favour that I found.  
O draw me to thee nigher.  
Help me to strip me of myself;  
Into some Cherub turn:  
To sound the Praise of thee, my King:  
O make the Fire burn,  
And heat my Heart red-hot with Love:  
Such favour I have found.  
Would I were nothing else but Love,  
Thy Praises to resound.  
How happy are the Souls in Bliss,  
The Spirits perfect made;  
Whose everlasting work it is,  
To love thee, is their trade!  
Who have no body of their own,  
No body else to hinder▪  
O that I could but praise thee here,  
As they can Praise thee yonder.  
The favour of thy Heart and Eyes  
So unexpected was▪  
'Tis Love of all things that I prise;  
So great a worth it hath.    
CANT. VIII. 11. Solomon had a Vineyard at Baal-hamon: he let out the Vineyard unto Keepers; every one for the fruit thereof, was to bring a thousand pieces of silver. 
HYMN 145.  

ZION, my Vineyard, is become  
As desolate as once she was:  
And there are Nations in her Womb,  
Like Pregnant Vines that all surpass.  
I'll Water her both Night and Day,  
And sweetly force her coming Fruit:  
Let the Winds bluster as they may.  
I GOD, have said it, and I'll do it.  
King Solomon had a Vineyard great,  
In Baal-hamon it was placed:  
It was a sweet and lovely Seat;  
Greatly admired and embraced.  
'Twas fet with Vines and other Trees,  
And richly stored in every place:  
But not like mine: my Plants are Souls,  
And Stocks of an immortal race.  
He farm d his Vineyard out to those,  
A thousand Silverlings that gave:  
But of the Vineyard I have chose,  
Myself alone the dressing have.  
I made my Plants, so did not he;  
I set them all with my own hand.  
Those that were dead, restored be,  
And flourish all at my command.    
CANT. VIII. 12. My Vineyard which is mine, is before me: thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, and those that keep the fruit thereof, two hundred. 
HYMN 146.  

KIng Solomon's Tenants shared the Fruit;  
They profit had, as well as he,  
Or else they never had come to 't:  
Two hundred silverlings their Fee.  
My Saints, I must have all your Fruit;  
Your Pains and Labours all is mine:  
Your Glory bring to Zions King;  
'Tis he that waters every Vine.  
Now shall you bear your Fruit to me,  
That once the stranger had devoured:  
Now shall you be like fruitful trees,  
And Apples in my bosom poured.  
Now shall your Fruit be pleasant, and  
Full grown and Mellow for my taste.  
Instead of rent to me in hand,  
I'll pay you all the Rent at last.  
You serve yourselves in serving me;  
You love yourselves when me you love:  
If here you not rewarded be;  
You shall received in Heaven above.  
And though King Solomon could not graft  
Into himself to raise his Fruit:  
You into me shall grafted be:  
Take it upon my word, I'll do't.    
CANT. VIII. 13. Thou that dwellest in the Gardens, the companions harken to thy voice— 
HYMN 147.  

MY work is done, I must be gone;  
My business calls away,  
To wait upon my Father's Throne:  
Farewell, I must not stay.  
Mean while, I'll leave my heart behind,  
And often to thee send:  
And spread thy case, at Throne of Grace,  
And strongly thee defend.  
I've placed thy Habitation in  
The Gardens of delight.  
No more the Boar, as was before,  
Thy tender Plants shall bite.  
Amidst these fruitful Plants shall be  
Thy work and dwelling placed:  
And with encouragement thou shalt see  
Each Border sweetly graced.  
In these enclosed Gardens, let  
The Commons hear thy voice,  
And those that have not listened yet,  
To hear thee, shall rejoice.  
Then tell them plainly all the thing:  
Bid them accept their bliss:  
When news you bring of Zions King,  
They will be yours and his.    
CANT. VIII. 13. — Cause me to hear it. 
HYMN 148.  

O Let me hear you Preach to those  
That would Companions be  
In Sufferings and in Privilege:  
O bring them unto me.  
Call nothing common and unclean:  
The greatest Sinner may  
By precious blood be turned to good;  
Their sins be done away:  
But let me hear you speak to me.  
No whispering Trumpet shall  
Convey the Voice: my Spirit shall be  
Your Mouth, your Post, your All.  
I must be gone, you know a while,  
As was ordained of old:  
To get things ready for the day  
That was so long foretold.  
But in this distance let me hear  
From thee, my dearest Love.  
Acquaint me but with what thou want'st,  
I'll send it from above.  
My full supplies shall feast thine Eyes,  
And make thy heart rejoice:  
I only move to thee my love,  
Let me but hear thy Voice.    
CANT. VIII 14. Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe, or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices. 
HYMN 149.  

MY God, make all the hast thou canst;  
Why do the hours move so slow?  
Why stops the glass that turned was  
So many hundred years ago?  
Is wakeful time fallen fast asleep?  
Why do the wheels of Motion stay?  
Why doth my God in Prison keep  
That blest and longed-for glorious day.  
Lover's will hasten all they can:  
Thou lovest; then, why dost thou stay?  
What Love and linger? O make haste:  
Lord if thou lov'st me, come away.  
'Tis not the pleasures of the World;  
Nor joys, nor toys, that can delight me.  
The blessed Angels lovely Faces,  
Without thy Presence would affright me.  
The glorious Joys of Heaven itself,  
Are but a Map of thee, my King:  
Jesus in Shorthand Characters:  
A notion, but thyself the thing.  
Come then, my All, my chiefest good;  
When shall blest Heavens so befriend us,  
To spare thee down? O when shall they  
A sight of our dear JESUS send us.  
Is it not midnight, Lord, and past!  
When shall we hear the Clocks strike One?  
One Faith, One Way, One Sight, One Taste,  
One Lawgiver, One Lord, One Throne?  
One Truth, One Gospel, One Consent,  
One God, One Jesus only known?  
Oh that this midnight-hour were spent,  
That all might coalesce in One.    
CANT. VIII. 14. — Be thou like to a roe, or to a young hart upon a the mountains of spices. 
HYMN 150.  

NEver more need to come with speed▪  
Foundations are dissolved:  
Justice and Right is fallen quite:  
Thy Saints in woe involved.  
Lord, if thou wilt by water come▪  
Mine Eyes shall weep a Sea:  
Or if by Land! my Charets stand  
In readiness for thee.  
Pardon this error; tears nor love,  
Nor no such thing from me,  
Can speed his coming from above,  
But Love that is in thee.  
The spicy Mountains are thy way;  
Thy steps perfume the Air:  
The heavens shall open in that day,  
And Beams of glory fair.  
The Angels shall attend thy call,  
Thy Saints shall wait upon thee,  
Thy Dead shall rise, thy Trump surprise  
Thy Enemies flying from thee.  
O that, that welcome day were come!  
We never saw a day.  
Can it be day without a Sun?  
Sweet Jesus! come away.   
Triuni Gloria. Omnia fecit Amor.    
FINIS.