« PrécédentContinuer »
Higher by far then Carmel top,
The walls of heav'n to fcale;
Which once the Lord did bleed.
Each holy air around thy face
-The King is * beld in the galleries.
Bold with the King are faith's efforts;
* Or, bound.
Such is the glory of his grace,
He boafts to be o'ercome;
And feafts the victor with folace,
Who fought but for a crumb.
Verle 6. How fair * and bow pleasant art thou, O
Love, for delights!
O Love, no words can specify
Thy forms of loveliness:
No equal for delights haft thou,
My Love, thy drefs without, how fair!
My lab'ring life was fpent throughout
That makes my bride all fair without,
All glorious too within.
Verfe 7. This thy ftature is like to a palm-tree, and thy breafts to clusters of grapes.
The fweet proportion I observe
None from their proper flation fwerve,
Thy flature, like the palm-tree firm,
Chear, like the clufters full of wine,
Verfe 8. I faid, I will go up to the palm-tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now alfo thy breasts fhall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nofe like apples ;
“I will, faid I, this palm-tree climb, This lovely walk approve;
"And to my bride in holy trim
"I'll manifeft my love *.
"I'll apprehend, by faving grace,
Lo! Heav'n fhall then thy breafls infpire,
The breath of life thy noftrils blow,
Shall with fweet fcent abound: No fav'ry apples e'er could throw Such grateful odours round.
Verfe 9. And the roof of thy mouth † like the beft wine, (for my Beloved) that goeth down fweetly, cauf ing the lips of thofe that are afleep to Speak.
Thy palate drench'd with holy love,
Shall drop the richeft wine:
So fweet thy pray'rs and praife fhall prove
I'll tafte thy cheer, and fpeak it good,
Devote it to my praise.
Drops from the living vine that ftream
* John xvi. 21.
+ Hcb. palate
A parenthesis of the bride's, fay fome.
Or, the ancient.
My Spirit's gen'rous wine will make
The old renew their days,
The dead to live, the dull to wake,
The CHURCH's Words.
I am my Beloved's, and his defire is towards me.
Lo! how my loving Lord commends
I'm not mine own, but his I'll be,
What line can this love-ocean found!
Whofe height immenfe, and depth profound,
Verse 11. Come, my Beloved, let us go forth into the field, let us lodge in the villages.
Come, dearest Love, let us retire
From this vain earth's annoy;
We'll chufe fome fecret, lonely place,
Thy company fuch hidden trains
Of confolation brings;
That, pois'd with this, my foul difdains
The pomp of earthly kings.
In rural villages below,
Come let us lodge all night,
Till dufky fhades of fin and woe
Give place to glory's light.
Verfe 12. Let us go up early to the vineyards: let us fee if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.
Unto the vineyards of thy grace
To fee, in this retiring place,
Come vifit, Lord, thy facred ground;
Its verdure will renew.
The vines their bloffom will refume,
In thefe retirements while I live,
In nearnefs fweet with thee apart
Verfe 13. The mandrakes give a fmell; and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I bave laid up for thee, O my Beloved!
Here, Lord, for thee the garden's dreft;
Come then vouchfafe with me to reft,
The mandrakes here, love-fruits and flow'rs,
Do fpread their odours round;
And at our very gates fweet ftores ·
And fruits of grace are found.