CHRIST'S WORDS .

I am the rose of Sharon fair,
To deck the field around;
The lilly of the valley, there
To grace the lowest ground.

Among the daughters in the throng
My love, whom grace adorns,
Shines as the lily does among
The rugged hurtful thoans.

THE CHURCH'S WORDS .

As th' apple-tree does far excel
Trees of the common wood;
So my Belov'd surpasseth all
The sons of noblest blood.

I sat me down with great delight,
My weary soul to rest,
Beneath his shade: and, O how sweet
His fruit was to my taste!

He brought me to his house of wine,
To feast; and then to aid
The banner of his love divine
He over me display'd.

Stay me with flaggons, comfort me
With apples from above:
I languish till my Lord I see:
Haste, for I'm sick of love.

He's come, and with his left-hand he
Supports my sinking head;
And his right-hand embracing me,
Strong comfort brings with speed.

O Salemites, I you obtest,
By rural hinds and roes,
Wake not my Love, while pleas'd to rest;
Nor mar his sweet repose.

Lo! my Belov'd, whose voice so nigh
My soul with wonder fills,
Comes leaping on the mountains high,
And skipping on the hills.

With speed his active love to show
On heights that would us part;
He's like the pleasant, bounding roe,
Or loving youthful hart:

Lo! he behind our wall doth stand;
He's at the window seen,
Displaying through the grate at hand
Himself, in flow'ry green.

Sweet was my Lord's most charming tone,
When thus I heard him say,
" Rise up, my love, my fairest one;
Make haste, and come away.

" Inviting spring adorns the clime;
For lo! the winter's past;
Now is the fair accepted time,
Quite o'er 's the stormy blast.

" The flow'rs upon the earth appear;
Birds singing time 's at hand:
The turtle's voice, to charm the ear,
Is heard within our land.

" Green figs upon their trees are grown;
Young grapes are smelling gay;
Arise, my love, my comely one;
Make haste, and come away.

" O thou, my dove, that in cleft rocks
And secret stairs I spy,
Absconding there, through fear of shokes,
Or shame to face the sky:

" Come let thy beauteous face appear,
Lift up thy voice to me;
For well thy voice delights mine ear,
Thy countenance mine eye.

" Take us the foxes with engines,
The little foxes here,
That spoil the vineyard: for our vines
Most tender grapes do bear. "

My well beloved Lord is mine;
And likewise I am his:
Among the lily-beds his fine
A pleasant feeding is.

Until day break, and shades depart:
Turn, my Belov'd, and flee
Swift like the roe or youthful hart,
On Bether hills to me.