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Thy rills of grace to me return,
And own their springs in me:
As garden-ftreams from thence must run,
The CHURCH's Words.
Awake, O north wind; and come, thou South; blow upon my garden, that the Spices thereof may flow out: let my Beloved come into bis garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
In ample praise, my King, I hear,
What humbling wonders he performs!
Lord, if I be a garden fair,
On thee the praise must land:
And faplefs, fcentlefs, fruitlefs lie,
Unless thy Spirit blow.
Awake, O heav'nly Wind, and come;
Blow on this garden of perfume
Sharp gales from chilling north command, To roufe the feeds of grace:
Then warming fouth's foft wings expand, Till fpices flow apace.
From ev'ry point, O mighty winds,
Blow a new Penticoft:
Am I the garden Heav'n can own,
O heav'nly Wind, awake and come,
On this my garden of perfume,
O holy Spirit, from above
My with'ring heart inspire,
Let northern breezes fill my fails
Make all the fpices flow abroad,
As graces active here,
To entertain my Lord and God,
Let my Belov'd his prefence fweet
To tafte his pleasant fruits, and eat
CHA P. V.
CHRIST awaketh the Church with his Calling.-The Church, having a Taste of CHRIST's Love, is fick of Love.-A Difcription of CHRIST by his Graces.
Verse 1. I am come into my garden, my fifter, my Spouse; I bave gathered my myrrb with my Spice; I have eaten my boney-comb with my boney; I bave drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.
My Love, in answer to thy pray'r,
I'm here at thy request;
And ready both to give and share
I'm come, my fpoufe, and fifter dear;
To gather up my fpice and myrrh;
I'm pleas'd with this perfume.
My graces relish like a feast
Of honey, milk, and wine:
I make myself a welcome guest;
Eat, drink, O friends, whom I approve;
I alfo welcome you:
Yea, drink abundance of my love,
Full freedom I allow.
Your fainting fpirits here refresh
The grace and love, the blood and flesh
Not elect angels ever share
Such ftrange and matchlefs food; They feast on their Creator's care,
The CHURCH's Words.
Verse 2. ¶ I fleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my Beloved that knocketh, faying, Open to me, my fifter, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my bead is wet with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
The heart of Jefus kind I fee,
But mine ungrateful fails;
And waking grace, that still protests
Hence, though I fleep, I at my heart
"Wrath's mid-night show'r bedew'd my locks,
"Who fuffer'd for thee fo;
"And now ftand waiting patiently
"To give the purchas'd good,
"At present ready to apply
The bleffings of my blood?"
Verse 3. I bave put off my coat, bow fhall I put it on? I bave washed my feet, bow fhall I defile them?
When thus in most endearing terms
Kind Jesus knock'd and cry'd,
"My clothes are off, my nap is fweet,
My non-admiffion of his grace
His holy Spirit vext;
My answer for my laziness
Was but a vile pretext.
Verfe 4. My Beloved put in his band by the bole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.
When I so shamefully refus'd
Access to my Belov'd,
Another kindly way he us'd,
Though I his word did bafely flight,
Yet, ere I was aware,
His Spirit by refistless might
Did kindly draw the bar.
He, to unbolt the door, put in
His gracious hand of pow'r : Then did his love upbraid my fin,
And melt by bowels fore.
Verse 5. I rofe to open to my Beloved, and my bands dropped with myrrb, and my fingers with SweetSmelling myrrh, upon the bandles of the lock.
How long he ftood, how oft he knock'd,
What drops of grace on th' entry lock'd
* Or, in me.