The Song of Songs, Chapter V: The Paraphrase

Christ.
MY Love, (my Dearest) hath Me brought
Whither thou didst Invite;
Thy Graces which my Hand hath wrought,
Have been my Souls delight:
Thou art a Vine, which with thy Wine,
Both God and Man dost chear;
Feed on the Fruits prepar'd in Thee,
A constant Feast is there.

The Church.
Such drowsiness doth me possess,
I live, and yet I die;
Some Life I have, no Liveliness,
How dark and cold am I!
Here in the dark and deep I grope,
Who us'd to live above;
Where is my Faith? Where is my Hope?
Where is my wonted Love?
It is no Strangers Voice I hear,
I know it is my Lords.
He knocks both at my Heart and Ear,
These are his loving words,
Open to Me, my Fathers Child,
Open to Me, my Love,
Open to Me, my Undefil'd,
Open to Me, my Dove.
My Gracious Patience hath stood
Long waiting at thy Door;
Fain would I enter for thy good;
Slight not thy Saviour.

One would have thought such melting words
Should break an heart of Steel
But I (Alas!) so stupid was,
Their Force I did not feel:
My Answer was to this Effect,
Lord, now I am at ease;
And Lord, if I should Thee respect,
My Friends I should displease:
Thy Service, Lord, would cost me dear,
The World would me molest;
Thy heavy Cross how can I bear?
Do not disturb my Rest.

My Lord to this made no Reply,
Only on Me he cast
A sad and a Rebuking Eye,
On which this sense I pass'd;
Dost thou my Patience thus requite,
To make it longer bear?
Dost all my Love and Sufferings slight?
I look'd for better Fare;
This stirr'd my Love, my Grief and shame,
Which put me to such pain.

That I resolv'd, whatever came,
To own my Christ again,
Accurst Temptations, be ye gone,
And do not me restrain;
Satan Avaunt, let Me alone,
I'll have my Christ again:
This Resolution gave some Ease
To my distressed Mind;
My Griefs did then begin to cease,
When I to Christ inclin'd.

But when I did my self address,
My Saviour to embrace;
Alas! for my Unworthiness
My Saviour hid his Face:
For He is Great as well as Good,
And will not be disdain'd;
Then his kind words, which I withstood,
My Conscience sorely pain'd:
O then I wish'd a thousand times
That I had been so wise
To shake off my Security,
When Christ bade Me arise:
I sought him daily in his Word,
But him I could not have;
I call'd and cry'd, My Love, my Lord!
But he no Answer gave.

Earth did oppress whom Heav'n forsook,
Nothing but Griefs I found,
For they who to my Soul should look,
My Soul did pierce and wound:
Their words and deeds did both conspire,
To grieve my grieved heart;
Their Scorns and Jears were Swords & Spears,
Which did increase my Smart.
But still my greatest wound was here,
My Lord I could not find;
Had I my Lord, I should not care,
Tho' others prov'd unkind.

Another Course I straightways took,
I did repair to those
Who Sion wards do often look,
And did my Case propose:
Blest Souls said I who oft attend
At the Almighties Court,
My Case to you I do commend,
That you may it report:
A Lord I have or rather had,
My Welbeloved one;
His Presence us'd to make me glad,
But, Ah, my Lord is gone!
If when you pray, he should acquaint
You with his Love and Grace;
Tell him from me, my Heart doth faint
And Languish for his Face.

Who is, said they, this Lord of thine?
O Fairest, let us know;
Wherein does thine others out-shine,
That thou dost Charge us so?

My dearest Lord is White and Red;
White thro' his Purity,
Red thro' his Blood which he did shed
For such an one as I:
Was he not Red, but only White,
The Lilly, not the Rose;
He might delight the Angels Sight,
But I am none of those:
Was he not White but only Red,
A Sufferer for his sin;
His Blood would rest upon his head,
Nor could I Joy therein:
But my dear Lord is White and Red,
This Mixture pleaseth me;
For, for my sins he suffered,
When he from sin was free:
What a reviving sight is this?
A righteous Saviour's Blood;
The Bath of Sin, the Spring of Bliss,
Most pure, most sweet and good:
The fond inchanted World admires
Their Idols here below;
Their creeping, groveling, poor Desires
Their Childish Minds do shew:
Did but my Glorious Lord appear,
O did they him but know,
What formerly their Glories were,
Would be no longer so:
The lesser Lights all disappear,
When once my Sun doth shine;
And tho' Ten Thousand Lords were here,
None could be like to mine:
My Lord, he is the King of Kings,
The Fairest of all Fairs;
Of all your fine and boasted things,
None with my Lord compares.
What's your thick Clay? Your stones bring forth
Which ye your Jewels call;
My Lord, he is of real worth,
And goes beyond them all.

His Godhead and his Government
Are infinitely pure,
Most Glorious and most Excellent,
And ever shall endure.

His is a pure and piercing Eye,
Thro' all the Earth it moves;
Which the dark Hypocrite doth spy,
And secret good approves.

His Cheeks appear most bright and clear,
When he himself doth shew;
Methinks I in a Garden walk,
Where Flowers and Spices grow:
When he doth my affections stir,
And speaks unto my Mind;
Methinks the Lillies drop with Myrrh,
Such Savour do I find:
So sweet a Grace adorns his Face,
His Face, like Heav'n doth shine;
And O what Musick do I hear,
When he saith, I am thine!

His Hands are like to Rings of Gold,
The works of my dear Lord
Are bright and comely to behold,
His Works fulfil his Word.
The Tender Bowels of his Love,
How precious they be!
When I am Griev'd, his Bowels move,
And loudly plead for me.

The sweet Proceedings of my Lord
Are like his Purposes;
Holy and Pure, and Firm and sure,
Both Love and Stedfastness:
His Countenance Majestical
All Rev'rence doth Command;
If he but Frowns on us, we fall,
But if he Smiles, we stand.

His Mouth is most exceeding sweet,
All sweetness like an Hive,
One word of his like Honey is,
O how it doth revive!
As I begun should I go on
My Dearest Lord to Limn,
You'd say, all sweets compacte[…]
And summed up in him.
My Lord is Larger than Desires,
Fairer than Words can show;
One comely part fond Earth admires,
My Lord is wholly so.
O Heav'n-born Souls, This, This is he
Of whom ye did enquire;
This is the Friend that Loveth me,
This is my Hearts Desire: