CHRIST'S WORDS .

Lo! thou art fair to me, my love;
Lo! Zion thou art fair;
Thy eyes, as of a beauteous dove,
Shine through thy locks of hair:

Gay like a pleasant flock of goats,
On Gilead's stately height,
Is thine adorning hair, (that notes
Thy known deportment bright.)

Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep,
Even-shorn, from washing come;
Each active grace does order keep,
And bring its product home.

Thy lips resemble scarlet thread,
And comely speech, endear;
Within thy locks thy temples red,
Like 'granates halv'd appear.

Thy neck is like to David's tow'r,
Built for a magazine;
Whose pegs a thousand bucklers bore,
All shields of mighty men.

Thy breasts resembling two young roes,
Do feed like friendly twins,
'Mong lily fields, thy babes and those
That haunt thy public inns.

Till day-break chase the shades of woe,
I'll rest in Zion still;
Unto the mount of myrrh I'll go,
And to the incense hill.

My love thou art all fair and clean,
The chief of beauteous brides;
No spot in thee is to be seen,
But what my favour hides.

Fair spouse by marriage-ties alone
I urge my call on thee;
Come, come with me from Lebanon,
From Lebanon with me:

Look from Amana's top that chills,
Shenir and Hermon high,
From lions' dens, and leopards' hills,
Where ghastly dangers lie.

My sister, spouse, thou in effect,
With one glance of thine eye:
With one chain of thy stately neck,
Hast rap'd my heart from me.

My sister dear, how fair's thy love!
How better far than wine!
Thy sav'ry ointment smell above
All eastern spices fine!

Thy lips drop like the honey-comb;
There milk and honey flow:
Thy garments smell like Lebanon,
Where aromatics grow.

My love's a garden well inclos'd,
Delicious fruits to yield:
A spring shut up, and unexpos'd;
A fountain safely seal'd.

Thy plants of grace do parallel
An orchard rich with trees,
And fruits that gratify the smell,
And form a paradise.

Here pomegranates and camphire grow;
Here trees of incense bloom;
'Nard, cinnamon, myrrh, aloses blow
With gales, a rich perfume.

My love's a garden-fountain known,
A living well beside,
Whose glad'ning streams from Lebanon
Through distant vallies glide.

THE CHURCH'S WORDS .

Awake, O north-wind; come thou south;
Upon my garden blow:
Soon will the breath, Lord, from thy mouth
Make all the spices flow.

Then, Lord, come share the pleasant spice,
Thus by thy Spirit blown:
My garden be thy paradise;
Its fruits are all thine own.