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O may my heart the centre prove

Of thy affections keen ;

Thy heart the centre of my love,

And nought to interveen.

-For love is ftrong as death, jealoufy is cruel as the


Strong wings of holy love aloft

Bear up my foul afresh,

Which in fweet raptures dying foft
Forgets the clog of flefh.

While thus my heart does mounting fly,

On this feraphic wing,

In love to thee I kindly die

To ev'ry mortal thing.

As thy ftrong love, O Lord, to me,
Could conquer death and dread;
So does my ardent love to thee
The pow'r of death exceed.
It kills me, Lord; I can't refift
This ftrong defire of mine:
If not with fatisfaction bleft,
To death, to death I pine.
Admit, me Lord, into thy heart,
Left my heart jealous be,
That either thine from me depart,
Or mine depart from thee.
Such jealoufy would fore torment,
And torture me to death;
Like the devouring grave, intent

To ftop my vital breath.

-The coals thereof are coals of fire, which have a moft vebement flame.

Thefe jealous flames will quite confume

My foul, like burning fire;

Unless thy loving answer come

To fuit my heart's defire

My flaming heart does bleed afresh,
If thou depart i' th' leaft;

Mine ardent zeal eats up my flesh,
Love-ficknefs pains my breaft.

The fparks of fervid love afcend

Like mounting flames on high;

With veh'ment force they heav'nward bend,
And pierce the azure sky.

O let thy bowels, Lord, be mov'd

To grant my heart's defire: I'd rather die than not be lov'd; My heart is all on fire.

Verfe 7. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the fubftance of bis boufe for love, it would utterly be


No waves could quench thy love, which fat
As king upon the flood

Of rolling vengeance, vaftly great,

And on a fea of blood.

Thus nor can many waters drown
My flaming love to thee;'
Nor torrents of turmoil † beat down
The zeal that burns in me.

In vain by flatt'ries, or by fears,
Do hell and earth combine
To quench the fire of love, that bears
A ftamp fo much divine.

Desertion black, nor dev'l, nor man,
Nor air, nor earth, nor fea,
Nor life, nor death, nor angels can
Divorce my love from thee ‡.
Were wealth to bribe my love, I could
The golden bait disdain,
Like defpicable dung that would
Invade my heart in vain.

I caft contempt on fuiters all,,

That dare compete with thee;

And value thrones no more than thrall,

Should they thy rivals be.

Verfe 8. We bave a little fifter, and fhe bath no

breafts: what shall we do for our fifter, in the day when he fall be spoken for?

† Buftle or flir.

See Rom. viii. 35,—39•

Since now, dear Lord, our mutual love

Is thus fo deep impreft;

May I this accefs fweet improve,

That others may be bleft.

Our little fifter, Lord, to wit,
A barren Gentile race,
With all uncall'd, unfav'd, as yet,
Though chofen by thy grace;
She little knowledge hath, we fee,
No fashion'd breafts of love;
No principle of grace from thee,
Nor nurture from above:
No breafts of confolation fweet,
No word, no means of grace;
No warm milk of inftruction meet.
To feed her starving race.
What fhall be done for her, I pray,
And for her progeny,

When they fhall on the marriage-day
Be call'd to match with thee?
What for our fifter-church to come,
Which Jews or Greeks fhall hatch;
To bring her to the marriage-room,
And carry on the match?


Verfe 9. If he be a wall, we will build upon ber a palace of filver; and if she be a door, we will inclofe ber with boards of cedar.

Love, I'll inform thee what we'll do,

With this our fifter dear, When by the gospel-call I woo,

And fpeak into her ear.

If once the good work were begun,

As by my grace it shall;

And the by faith on me alone

Built like a brazen wall:

We'll make the wall a work complete,
A filver palace fair *,

A temple for my holy Sp'rit
To dwell for ever there.

*Pfalm cxliv. 12.

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If once I make her heart a door,

Wide ope to take me in;

We'll as with cedar-boards fecure,
And ftrengthen her within.
We Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Will frame, advance, and crown
The happy building, at our coft,
Which hell fhall ne'er pull down.
Ev'n outcaft Gentiles bafe, at length
The wond'ring world fhall fee
In num'rous iffue, beauty, ftrength,
And grandeur rival thee.

The CHURCH's Words.

Verse 10. I am a wall, and my breafts like towers i
then was I in bis eyes as one that found favour.
Kind Lord, how gladly do I hear
Thy promife made to me,
For elect filter-churches dear!
I roll their care on thee.

My fweet experience clears thou wilt
Thus kindly deal with them;
For I'm a wall moft firmly built,
And rear'd upon thy name.

Thou mak'ft my breafts of graces grow
Like iv'ry tow'rs fo high;

I trust what love to me doft show,
To them thou won't deny.
When grace my unbelief deftroy'd,
And on my rock me fix'd;
Thy favour then my foul enjoy'd,
With fweet love-tokens mix'd.

Then did my life's department fhew
Thine image on my heart;
And thou thyfelf with pleafure view
The grace thou didft impart.

I'm joyful when to mind I do
Thefe happy days recall;
By gaace was I built up, and fo
My little filter fhall.

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Verfe 11. Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-bamon; be let out the vineyard unto keepers: every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand pieces of filver.

Another object of my care,

Befide our fifter dear,

Is likewife, Lord, thy vineyard fair,
Already planted here.

Our Solomon, the Prince of peace,
A vineyard did poffefs,
And to a multitude did leafe,
And let it out to drefs.

At Baal-hamon, where he plants
Upon a fruitful foil,

And fervants with commiffion grants
To keep it from turmoil.

He takes the care in chief, but they
An under-truft maintain;

He wakes and keeps it night and day,
Elfe watchmen watch in vain *.
From ev'ry fervant there employed
He ftill requires the rent

Of praise, for what they have enjoy'd,
And work to his content.
Each one for fruit that he affigns
Proportion'd tribute brings,
And renders for a thoufand vines
A thousand filverlings †.


Verle 12. My vineyard which is mine, is before me :My vineyard, Love, the object is

Of my peculiar care;

My heart and eye is fix'd on this

More close than any-where.

'Tis mine by fpecial right and grant,
By blood and conqueft too;

The ftate and cafe of ev'ry plant
Is always in my view.

* Ifaiah v. 1,-4. Pfalm cxxvii. I.

+ Isaiah vii. 23.

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