The Song of Songs, Chapter IV: The Paraphrase

Christ.
Mr Dearest Church, I do admire
The Beauties of thy Mind,
So Meek, so Harmless, so Entire,
So Loyal and so Kind:
Ev'n thy Profession I esteem,
Because it springs from Grace,
Which makes Thee yet more comely seem,
As Hair adorns the Face.

Thy Pastors which prepare thy Food,
Do in their Minds agree;
Their Lives and Doctrines both are good,
And bring much Fruit to me.

Thy Speech so season'd is with Grace,
That many Hearts it moves;
And Graces colour in thy Face,
Its great Advantage proves.

Thy Faith which joyns thee to thy Head,
Doth shield thine inward parts;
This Shield hath oft extinguished
The Devil's Fiery Darts.

The two Breasts of thy Testaments
Most friendly do accord;
Which Nourishment and sweet content
To new Born Babes afford.
The Cries of a Distressed Soul,
These Breasts of Comfort still;
These Breasts make glad, whom Sin makes sad,
These Breasts the Hungry Fill.

The Word is here the Churches Fare,
And Faith the Churches Light,
Till Shades give way to Glories Day,
Then shall she live by Sight:
Mean-while my Gracious Presence shall
Her dear Assemblies fill;
Her Prayers shall be most sweet to me,
Sweet as the Incense-Hill:
Mean-while my Glorious Presence shall
Fill Heav'n, that Holy Ground,
Where Cherubims and Seraphims
Their Hallelujahs sound.

My dearest Church, how clear art thou,
On whom no sin remains!
My Blood apply'd hath purify'd
Thee from thy Guilts and stains:
Thou art to me as white as Snow,
And tho' thou finnest still,
Grace keeps thee in, thou canst not sin
With full consent of Will.

Let my Fair Glories thee intice
To come along with me;
Forsake thine Earthly Paradise,
Thy Paradise I'll be;
Birth, Pleasures, Riches, Friends and Fame,
Are all summ'd up in Me.
O that thou knew'st how good I am!
Come now and tast and see:
The World's an howling Wilderness,
Fill'd with the Beasts of Prey;
Whilst that they Rage, Roar, and Oppress,
On Canaan fix thine Eye.

My Heaven-born Spouse, whom I embrace,
My Joy and Crown thou art;
Thine Eye of Faith, thy Chain of Grace
Have overcome my Heart.

My Dearest Spouse of Heav'nly Birth,
Thy Love is more to Me
Than all the Pleasures of the Earth,
And sweet thy Graces be.

Thy Speeches in thy Heart are bred,
And sweetly do they flow;
Thy works do such a savour spread,
As Lebanons Spices do.

Disguised to the World thou go'st,
Heav'n in a Mystery;
To me thou Run'st, to me thou Flow'st,
None knows thy worth but I:
As thou art mine, so I am thine,
My Love doth guard thy Heart;
Thy Heart's with me, my Love's with thee,
My Church, how safe thou art!

My Church thou art a Paradise,
Where Fruits and Spices grow;
Fair are thy Fruits, and from thy Spice
Thy sweetest Odours flow:
Thy tender Plants thy Children are,
Their Graces Fruits and Spice;
I am the Tree of Life in Thee,
My Church, my Paradise.

Thou art a Spring, which to thy Plants
D[…]st thy pure Streams derive;
Under thine Eye and Ministry
Thy Blest Assemblies thrive.

The Church.
My Lord, if I a Garden am,
Then let thy Spirit blow;
And with its Gales refresh the same,
And make my Graces flow:
And when thy Spirit thus hath blown,
And I do flourish most,
Then let my Dearest Lord come down,
And feed upon his Cost.
So poor I am, so great thou art,
The Lord, how can I Feast?
Furnish the Table of my Heart,
Then come and be my Guest.