The Song of Songs, Chapter VI: The Paraphrase

The Church.
WHilst thus my dearest Lord I prais'd,
As I could do no less;
They heard, they look'd, they stood amaz'd
At my great happiness:
And when I ceas'd they thus reply'd,
O Fairest we must needs
Congratulate thy Blest Estate,
Which ours so far exceeds:
O that we were in such a Case
As we perceive thou art;
O that our Souls might find a place
In thy Beloved's Heart:
Whither is thy Beloved gone?
Pray, let us go with thee,
To seek thy Well beloved One,
Whose Face we fain would see.

If you my dearest Lord would see,
Then go unto his Court,
Look where his Saints Assembled be,
Thither you must Resort:
For they his Pleasure-Gardens are,
Where he delights to be;
They are his Comfort and his Care,
There you my Lord may see:
Some Souls he breeds, and some he feeds,
Others he doth remove;
Hence for his lower Gardens to
His Paradise above.

I am my Well-beloved ones,
My Well-beloved's mine;
To me his Love a Feast doth prove,
Beyond the Richest Wine.

Christ.
My dearest Church, on whom I see
A Fair and Royal Stamp;
All sweetness joyn'd with Majesty,
Thou art both court and camp.

Thy Prayers are arms, thy Praises charms,
Thy Love is like a Dart;
Thy Faith and Graces are so strong,
They overcome my Heart:
Thy Fair 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 countenance so shines with Grace,
That many Hearts it moves;
And Grace's colour in thy Face,
Its great Advantage proves.

The World presents its glorious Shews,
But what are those to me?
In my dear Church, my only Spouse,
All Glories do I see.

Earths Pride would soon confounded be,
Should but my Spouse appear,
Who to her mother and to me
Is so exceeding dear.
Her Noble Birth and Real Worth,
Have gain'd her so much Fame,
The greatest Princes of the Earth
Have prais'd her worthy Name.

Her Sweetness joyn'd with Majesty,
Her Presence much Endear'd;
Her Power with her Purity
Made her both lov'd and fear'd.

I have been with my new born Saints,
I have been down to see
What Buds were on my tender Plants,
What hopes of Fruit for me.

When my dear Church, I hid my Face,
Thou did'st thy self bemoan;
I did but prove thy Faithful Love,
When thou thought'st I was gone:
My Bowels yearn'd when thou didst Cry,
My Love did me constrain;
To haste apace, and shew my Face
To thy griev'd Soul again.

Return, Return my dearest Church,
Return, Return to me;
The Heav'nly Quire, and I desire
Thy Blessed Face to see:
My Heav'nly Host, if ye would know
My Churches State and Case;
She is another Host below,
And of an awful Grace.