CHRIST'S WORDS .

How beauteous are thy feet with shoes,
O prince's daughter fair!
Each stately step thou walkest shows
A sparkling heav'nly air.

The joints, that strength and motion do
To thy right steps impart,
Like orient jewels burnish'd new,
Speak holy curious art.

Thy bowels warm, where kindness glows,
Thine infant brood to feed,
Seem like a bowl that overflows
With liquor for their need.

Thy fertile womb an heap of wheat
Forms to thy lily brood;
While younger babes have proper meat,
The elder solid food.

Like two young roes appear thy breasts,
That are delightful twins;
Thine equal care so sweetly feeds
Thy babes in sacred inns.

Thy neck that holds thy head most high,
Like iv'ry white and fair,
May with a tow'r that mounts the sky,
For strength and state compare.

Thine eyes are like the lucid pools
Of fish at Heshbon, near
Bathrabbim gate; (no learned fools
Had ever sight so clear.)

Thy nose sagacious; (th' en'my wots)
Looks bold like Leb'non's tow'r,
Damascus-ward; to smell their plots,
And watch against their pow'r.

Thy knowing head, like Carmel high,
Appears in crimson red;
Its hairs and dress a purple dye;
(With blood the Lord did shed.)

Hence ev'n the King of kings compell'd,
Within thine arms embrace,
Is fast a willing captive held,
In gall'ries of his grace.

O love, how fair thou art's untold,
In thee what charming sights!
How sweet thy graces manifold!
How pleasant for delights!

I to the palm-tree do compare
Thy stature straight and fine;
Thy breasts of love, so full and fair,
To clusters of the vine.

I said, I will this palm-tree climb,
And of its boughs take hold;
My love, I'll to my bride in trim
And to her babes unfold:

Then shall thy loving breasts o'erflow,
Like clusters full of wine;
The breath of life thy nostrils blow
Shall smell as apples fine.

With wine that of the richest kind,
(Reserved for whom I love,)
Thy palate drench'd shall clear the mind,
And graceful speech improve;

Juice from the living vine that flows,
Goes sweetly down by sips:
The mouth of sleepers doth unclose,
And sanctify their lips.

THE CHURCH'S WORDS .

My well-belov'd I must admire,
Most worthy though he be,
He's mine; and, lo! his heart's desire
Is towards worthless me.

Come, love; let's to the field of grace,
Retire from earth's annoy:
Make villages our lodging place,
That none disturb our joy

Let's to the vineyards early go,
To see if fruit improves;
If tender grapes and 'granates grow:
There I'll give thee my loves.

Sweet mandrakes smell, and at our door,
All pleasant fruits there be,
Both new and old, laid up in store,
My dearest Lord, for thee.