Spiritual hymns upon Solomons song: or, Love in the right channel Wherein that divine part of scripture is paraphras'd, and the dark places expounded; and may be vocally sung in the ordinary tunes of the singing Psalms. By John Reeve.

CANT. I. 1.

The Song of Songs, which was Solomons.

HYMN 1.

'TWas Solomon's Song, but now 'tis mine: 'Tis yours, you blessed Saints on high: You Mil'tants come and make your claim; All you that are athirst, draw nigh. This Song of Songs, and Hymns of praise; Sweet Jesus at thy feet we lay, Together with our Hearts and Souls, And for acceptance humbly pray. King Solomon sha'nt Praise thee alone, Nor singly sing his part in this: We'l Praise thee too, because that thou Our Jesus art, as well as his. Strike up you blessed Angels, Tune Your Musick to the highest Key; You separated Souls in bliss, Sing forth his Praise (as well you may). How precious is this Song of Songs, Where Christ himself concerned is, And sings the Praises of his Church, As they're concern'd in singing His!

Come blessed Spirit of our God, Enflame our hearts with heav'nly fire; W'el sing our parts: O! raise our hearts And Tune them yet a great deal high'r.

CANT. I. 2.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his Mouth:

HYMN 2.

LEt those inam'ring Lips of thine, With Love-begetting Love; Seal Kisses on these Lips of mine, That I may tast and prove, What those immense Treasures of Love, Those Seas and Oceans be: Let sacred Love flow from above, In Nectar streams to me. And let me kiss those Kisses, which Can raise my Heart on high, And love that Love, that can enrich And crown my Poverty. But will renowned Jesus deign To kiss so vile a Sinner, And be of undeserved Love, The Author and Beginner! Can filthy Lips, and so unclean, Expect a Prince his Kiss!

Do Kings embrace a Love so mean! Was ever Love like this! He that could kiss the bitter Cross, And kiss the burning Wrath, And kiss the Breath of direful Death, A Kiss for Sinners hath!

CANT. I. 2.

—For his Love is better than Wine—

HYMN 3.

LOrd! I esteem thy precious Love, And prize it more than richest Wine, There is no Cordial can remove My fainting, like that Blood of thine. Wine spills the man that drinks too much, And greatly doth his Health impair; But those that drink the most of Love, The temperatest Persons are. The Wine is not the poor Mans Drink; But here's a Cellar always free: The Rich may come, and poorest Saint May drink his fill, as well as He. There was no Wine at Cana's feast, Was once complain'd by them above; But such a word shall ne're be said, At Sion's Feast there is no Love.

My Soul! pierce thou this pipe of Love, Fill all thy Flaggons to the Brim; Divine excess is soberness, And Holy Drunkenness no Sin. The Wine that with us best agrees, And curious Palats most approve, Is not without unpleasing Lees: But oh! there is no dregs in Love. Love's All that can be spoke or thought; 'Tis all Earth hath, or Heav'n above. Epitomize a Deity, The total sum of all is LOVE.

—For his Love is better than Wine.

HYMN 4.

LOve me, my dearest Jesus, love me, And shed that Love, and let me see A Letter written full of Love, And superscribed unto me. O love my Soul, and love me more, Altho I know no reason why: Let me experience where that great Magnetick power of Love doth lye. Thy Love's a flood to quench the Flame•• Of all my burning base Desires: Thy Love's a Flame to drink the floo Of Vanity, my heart aspires.

Thy Love's a Corr'sive to my Sins; Eats the proud Flesh from carnal heart: Thy Love's a Cordial to revive The faintings of the better part. Let Friends oppose, let En'mies rage; Let Tyrants threaten Death appall: Let Hell and Devils do their worst, I'le set thy Love against them all. Love me, my dearest Jesus, love me, And shed that Love, and let me see A Letter written full of Love, And superscribed unto me.

CANT. I. 3.

Because of the savour of thy good ointments, thy name is as ointment poured forth: there∣fore do the virgins love thee.

HYMN 5.

HOw odoriferous are the sents Of thy Graces Divine, Beyond all measure pou'rd forth, Upon that Heart of thine! No Garden flow'rs, no Spices, Lord; No sweet perfumes that please, Not Aaron's Oyl, nor Mary's Box, Smell half so sweet as these.

Those Virgins next about thy Throne, Angels and Saints that smell, Th' anointings of the holy One, And 'midst these Odours dwell; Are always in Transports of Love, Have nothing else to do: Would I were there, that I with them Might learn to Love thee too. The Virgin-Souls, whom thou art tuning, As strings to sound thy Praise; Whose hearts with holy Oyl perfuming, With whom 'tis early days; Initial converts new crept out The Womb of Graces laws, Commence their Love, and Face about: O how thy Oyntments draws! Pour ont the anointings, Lord, and we Will wrap our selves in sweet, And dwell amidst the rich perfumes, There will we place our feet; Tho it be costly, spare no cost, O spare, nor work, nor toyl; Tho we have nothing else to give, We'l give thee Love for Oyl.

CANT. I. 4.

Draw me, and we will run after thee—

HYMN 6.

WIth thy great Power draw me, Lord, And I to thee will come. With greater Power draw me, Lord, And I to thee will run. Draw me, and others I will draw, And we to thee will run; Except thou draw'st, our backward hearts To thee they'l never come. When Jesus draws, he strongly draws, The flesh can't hold me back; Nor all the pleasures of the World; 'Tis thee, 'tis thee I lack. When Jesus draws, he sweetly draws, As Beasts by Fodder led; As Lovers draw by Charms of Love, As Unions raise the Dead. The Loadstone draws the steely Mass, And none can tell us how; So draw my steely Heart, my God, And make my Powers bow. Yea, drawn I am, I bless thee for't, My Soul shall praise thee ever:

O Father, Son and Holy Ghost, My God, forsake me never.

CANT. I. 4.

—The King brought me into his Chambers—

HYMN 7.

WHen fervent Love, with winged hast, To blessed Jesus flies: With winged hast he comes as fast, With help and choice supplies: Let's not his Church stand at the door, He sends no Servant down; But down the stairs he comes himself, That King of great renown. His Person is the thing She seeks, His Person tends upon Her; His Person is the thing She meets, His Person is Her honour. And up the Stairs he leads his Love; Gives Her a Princely Treat; With sp'ritual Nectar chears Her heart, And Entertainments great. He seasts Her with his Chamber Love; The best of all his store: She seeds upon his Flesh and Blood; Her heart can wish no more:

O Lord! thou art to me a dart: My wounded bleeding heart, Shall still impart her Lovesick Art, And never from thee start.

CANT. I. 4.

—We will be glad and rejoyce in thee—

HYMN 8.

GO, empty Joys, with all you toys: I have a better Joy than you: The Wine, the Mirth, the Musick▪dance Doth but my precious Soul undo. The blessed Jesus hath vouchsafe'd Upon the Mount my Soul to raise: Now I'le exalt his Name and Fame, And to the Heavens raise his Praise. Let things go how they will below, Let Mountains duel with the Seas▪ Let Hell her hottest Fires blow, My heart in Him shall take her ease. The merry Mirth which madness yields, Which worldly Men so fast devours; Their pleasures and their drinking-hours▪ Cannot afford such Mirth as ours. They cannot tast our Joys, O Lord; Nor can thy Saints more rellish theirs:

Our Joys will greater Joys afford: And their's will end in bitter Tears: Therefore will we rejoice în thee: Our Joys shall feast upon thy store: When we are sad, we will be glad, And Praise thy Name for evermore.

CANT. I. 4.

—We will remember thy Love more than Wine—

HYMN 9.

GIve place, ye Spirits of the Grape, That briskly fparkle in the Glass: There's no such Wine as Love Divine; O, what a flavour Jesus has! Were we possest of East and West, And all the Joys of Heav'n above: Treasures of both the Worlds: we will, Forgetting these, remember Love. Forgetfulness the fruit of Wine, But never was the fruit of Love; The more I take, the more I make Impressions deep, and past remove. We cannot meet with Wine so sweet, Nor yet so pleasant to the tast, As drops of warm and bleeding Love, That trickle from his heart so fast:

The Wine that from the Grape is prest, In time will into sowr turn; But Love Divine will ever shine, With hottest Flames that always burn. The Wine is drawn, the Vessel's out, You cannot make it ever run: Whom Jesus loves, he loves as fresh, As if it were but now begun: Thou God of our Salvation, Draw forth our Loves more unto thee: By loving us, teach us to Love, And thy beloved Spouse to be.

CANT. I. 4.

—The upright love thee.

HYMN 10.

THou art belov'd, and best approv'd, Of all that are upright, Whose hearts are sound, sincerely bound; Thou art their chief delight: Whose very heart and souly part, Dwells with the Truth; and when▪ Mens hearts are truly true to thee, As thou art true to them. Tho Sinners scorn, and all forlorn, In their ungodly sight:

Wretches they are, that would not care, To Love thee, if they might. The Hypocrite will speak thee fair, But hath no love within: Kiss▪ and betray, like Judas they; O Lord, it is their Sin! My Lord! I love thee truly, tho I Love not as I should: I love thee, yet I love thee not; At least, not as I would: I would I could; but since 'tis so, Worms can but act as Worms▪ Accept a real wish it were, A spark till Fire burns.

CANT. I. 5.

I am black, but comely (O ye Daughts of Je∣rusalem) as the tents of Kedar, and cur∣tains of Solomon.

HYMN 11.

O What a sorry thing am I, That cannot bear this weight of Love! I'm sunk, and down, and dead, as if Some dart had struck me from above. My Face is black because of Sin; But yet am comely by his Grace:

I'm black without, but fair within: The scorching Sun hath tann'd my Face. How black soever, Lord, I am; Yet I am comely towards thee: O mayst thou love! and give me leave, Thy ardent Lover yet to be▪ Tho Sin and Sorrow makes me black, Like Kedar's Tents, that always lye Expos'd to Wind and Air unkind, And inward wasting Misery. Yet Solomon's bed is not so fair, Nor are his Curtains half so bright, As I am, through his Grace, within, Comely in my Beloveds sight: Ye Daughters of Jerusalem, Do not contemn me at this rate, Because of my deformity, And this my dark and gloomy state. For Love he can, altho I am, Most undeserving of his Love; And black as Hell, as if I were, As fair as is the Heav'n above.

CANT. I. 6.

Look not upon me, because I am black, for the Sun hath looked upon me.—

HYMN 12.

A Cloud may quickly overcast The brightest Sunny-day; And through the sweetest Joys on Earth, Our tears can break their way. Ye Daughters of Jerusalem, The Sun hath tann'd my Face. Alas! the Morphew that obtrudes It self in Beauties place! Look not upon me, turn your Eyes: I am a loathsom sight To God and Angels, and my self; In me is no delight: O how I loath my self, my God, To see this filthy sight! O how I long, tho thus unclean, To love thee, if I might! There is a sacrificed Lamb, Whose Blood can make me white. There is a Sun can wake the day, Out of this dismal Night:

Then shall my black be washed off; Then shall my Beauty shine; Fair as the Morn; tho thus forlorn, Both in your Eyes and mine.

CANT. I. 6.

—My mothers children were angry with me—

HYMN 13.

MY Mothers (not my Fathers) Sons; Half Brethren, Lord to me; That claim a Kind'red of thy Church, But not a-kin to Thee: Sons of the Church create my woes, And cause me all this moan: They'd have me see by their blind Eyes, And quite put out my own. They have a way to fast and pray, Thy word doth not allow: And to their Modes of Worship false, They'd have my Conscience bow. The golden Image they set up, My Soul shall not adore. The fi'ry Furnance of their Wrath; I'le bear, and help implore. Awake, O Christ, and me assist, And keep my heart within,

True to thy Truth, thy Cause and thee, That nothing make me sin: I'd better anger Men and Devils, That's but a Creature wrath: Than by submitting to these evils, Try what thine Anger hath.

CANT. I. 6.

—They made me keeper of the Vinyards—

HYMN 14.

ARise, O▪Lord, some help afford; To thee my Soul doth moan: I cannot hold, I must-unfold My grief to thee alone. They've gotten Vineyards here and there, Exotick to thy Laws, Which by their force they'l make me keep, From which my Soul withdraws. Their Figs are naught, their Grapes are sour, Their Vintage is not good: Their Winepress is to press the Saints; Their Liquor is their blood. Head of the Church! I pray thee let My heart be guided so, That I may yet their anger get, And make them more my foe▪

They've got a Vineyard strange to thee, No Scripture-rule must guide it; And they'd have me their slave to be: O Lord! I can't abide it. Be thou a keeper, Lord, to me, And I'le be none of theirs; And fortifie my heart within, From all besieging fears: So will I Praise, and Trophies raise, For my Illustrious King; And throw false Worship out of doors, As an accursed thing.

CANT. I. 6.

—But mine own Vineyard I have not kept—

HYMN 15.

ALas! when I with them comply, My Soul doth suffer loss: My Vine doth languish, and my Trees Are overgrown with Moss. My Graces they felt a decay, My Plants began to dye; My Conscience bled, my Joys were fled; O, what a Wretch was I! ••alse Worship is a canker-Worm; It Poysons all the Fruit:

Unscripture-Modes are Locusts all; My Vineyard yet doth rue 't: Twas never well with me and mine, Since thee and thine I slighted; For fear of man, from thee I ran; O how I am benighted! Let thy Commands and Laws, O Christ, My Vineyard be to me: And next to them, O let my Soul, My other Vineyard be: And let it be my great imploy, To keep my Vineyards clean: So shall I rest, and be possest Of Joys no Eye hath seen.

CANT. I. 7.

Tell me (O thou whom my soul loveth) where thou feedest, and where thou causest thy flocks to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy compa∣nions?

HYMN 16.

O Thou Beloved of my Soul! Tho hast a People free From all these mixtures, cleansed pure: O tell me where they be!

Thou hast thy Institutions, And Ordinances pure; Thou hast thy Churches: Tell me when, And where I may be sure. Thou hast Enclosures rich and fat, Peculiar to thy Sheep; And dainty nour'shing Pastures where Thou dost them always keep. Thou in Communion fold'st them up, In Winter keep'st them dry; Thou giv'st them shades from heat of Sun: O tell me where they lye! For why should I be led away By Creatures, in pretence; And starve my soul, misled by such As come I know not whence? O tell me then, and bring me where, In this my greatest need, Thy Pastures and thy Pastors are; And I with them will feed.

CANT. I. 8.

If thou know'st not (O thou fairest among wo∣men) go thy ways forth by the footsteps of the flocks, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds tents.

HYMN 17.

O Thou my fairest one! (Thus my beloved spake) If thou would'st know what thou must do, And with my Saints partake. Go up to yonder Mount, Thence look, and thou shalt spye, Clear as the Sun, what must be done, Presented to thine Eye: Seest thou them folded Flocks, Whose heart the Spirit tyes: Whom Gospel order calls into Distinct Societies? Seest thou the Fields, where they Enjoy their heavenly feed? The Shepherds stand at my command, To guide them at their need. Their Magna Charta is My Word; my Law their Guide:

O follow them that follow me, Their foot shall never slide: There go, and joyn thy self; Thy Soul there feed and feast; Follow their steps to Pastors Tents, And there thy Soul shall rest.

CANT. I. 9.

I have compared thee, O my love, to a compa∣ny of horses in Pharoahs chariots.

HYMN 18.

MY Church! my Love! I'le now begin, T' express the Joy that I am in, And sing thy Praise as thou dost mine, And tell the World why I am thine. I've made thee fair, there's no compare; No worldly thing is such to me: King Pharoah's Charet-Horses were A comely sight, but not like thee. When I behold their beauty, and Coupled in order as they stand; I more admire and Praise those Unions, My Churches have in their Communions. Were Pharoah's trappings boss'd with Gold, As if they would outshine the Sun?

Much more the pollish of thy Grace Shines; that my heart is overcome. Did Pharoah's Horses prance along, And gladly draw his Charets on? Such Service from thee I have found, As if thou didst not feel the ground. As Pharoah's Charets did exceed; The best in all the world they be: Such is my Love, such is my Dove, The best in all the world to me.

CANT. I. 10.

Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold.

HYMN 19.

WHen Princes Daughters, in whose Veins The Royal blood doth run: Stand richly drest in all their best, By art that can be done: My Church! thy beauty far exceeds, Thy Glory far excells: My Love! thou 'rt fairer than them all; In thee all beauty dwells. When rows of Jewels beautifie Their Face, and Cheeks adorn,

To make thee fair in Princes Eye, And welcome as the Morn. The Graces of my Church shine forth More lustr'ous, tho but small: Methinks I see my Glory shine Upon their Faces all. When chains of Gold, the Necks enrich, Of mortal Beauties here: It draws their Eyes, who are not wise, And leads them to a snare: But happy they that can be caught With Sions Beauty so: And fall in Love, as I have done With Saints, and what they do.

CANT. I. 11.

We will make thee borders of gold, with studs of silver.

HYMN 20.

WE, Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Will all in one conspire; To stud the Glory of thy Face, And make thee All Desire. I'le to my Father for supplies, And largely he'l dispence:

I'le to the Holy Ghost also, And fetch thee Riches thence. Thou shalt partake of all my stores, My Heart, my Blood, and Me; If what's in Heaven, or Earth can do't, We'l give it all to thee. We'l with most glorious Ornaments, Pollish that heart of thine: Borders of Gold, and Silver studs, Shall make thy Glory shine: When all is done, 'tis all too small A Present for my Love: I'le give my self away also, And thou shalt live above All things but me; for I'le be Gold, Jewels, and every thing, And thou shalt live upon my stores, And loud my Praises sing. And then will we rejoyce in thee, When we have made thee thus: Then sin no more, (as did before) Shall break 'twixt thee and us: My Soul admire this fervent Fire: Such Love no Tongue can tell: Who could have thought that Christ that bought Should Love his Church so well!

CANT. I. 12.

While the king sitteth at his table, my spike∣nard sends forth the smell thereof.

HYMN 21.

HOW rich and dainty is the fare, My blessed Love, and Lover dear, Provides for his beyond compare, And feasts them with his heavenly chear? The Cloath is lay'd, the Table spread, The Dainties are his Flesh and Blood: The welcome Guests are richly fed, And He himself becomes their Food. His Presence graces all the Feast; His smile make welcome every Guest: He sits at Table with them, where His Saints are glad to meet Him there. His presence draws their Graces forth, Faith, Love, Joy, Patience, and the rest; The smell whereof is better worth, Than Spikenard Oyntments at the best. Thus Gardens yield their sweetest smells, When Rain and Sun extract them forth. Thus in his presence man excels, Who's in his absence little worth.

My Soul! thy King at Table sits; Now let thy Spikenard-Graces lend The sweet perfumes; and pleasant sents Into his Nostrils largely send.

CANT. I. 13.

A bundle of myrrh is my welbeloved to me; he shall lye all night between my breasts.

HYMN 22.

TEll me no more, you Sons of Art, You Students in the Case, What 'tis will ease a Sick mans heart, And all his Grief displace: Jesus, when he doth please to be Refreshing from above; How he transports me! O I feel, My self all Fire and Love. The holy Oyl was made of Myrrh: O Christ anoint me so: Thy Body was embalm'd with Myrrh! O Christ embalm me too! And make me sweet, that I may greet A never dying Rest, And smell of thee, as if possest, With Myrrh upon my breast!

There is a Night of darkness, when This Myrrh is Cordial: A Night of great Affliction, then This Myrrh is all in all▪ O let him lye between my breasts, And with his Love perfume me, And yield his heart-reviving Art! This Night will else consume me.

CANT. I. 14.

My beloved is unto me as a cluster of cam∣phire in the vineyards of Engedi.

HYMN 23.

OO me! to me! what comfort wer't, Or what refreshment could I see, If he were sweet to all the World, And were not also sweet to me? I'le sing my well▪beloved's Praise, And speak what he hath been to me: Engedi's Aromatick Vines, Have never been so sweet as He. Clusters of Balsam Camphire were, In those same Vineyards past compare: Yet none so sweet, yet none so rare, As my Beloved's Odors are.

How sweet was Christ upon the Cross, Making Atonement for my Sin? Or else my Life had been my loss▪ What a sad case had I been in! How sweet was he within the Grave? Himself, not spices made him so: How sweet a Bed shall I then have, When sleep with Jesus I shall go! Blest be the day that e're I smelt, What sweet in my Beloved was: Bless be the day that ere I felt, That sweetness my Beloved has: How sweet art thou in Heaven, where Angels and Saints perfumed are? Amidst that plenty grant there be, One cluster, Lord, lay'd up for me.

CANT. I. 15.

Thou art fair, my Love: behold, thou art fair, thou hast doves eyes.

HYMN 24.

THou 'rt fair, my Love! Lord, how can I be fair, thus foul with Sin! Thou 'rt fair, my Love: Lord, tell me why▪ What transport art thou in!

I ne're am fair, but when there are, Reflections from thy Grace Darted upon me, from thy fair And most resplendent Face. Thou art my Love: Lord, can it be, When I deserve thy fury, And highly merit, that thou me Should'st in Oblivion bury! Yet cause thy Love is like thy self, Too deep for humane Eye: Thou lov'st, because thou lov'st me, Lord, I know no reason why: Thou hast Doves eyes so pure and chast: Those Eye-beams draw my heart: In tears of godly sorrow washt: They shine like Stars in dark: Lord! Is't because they shall be so, When Glory makes them bright? Or, is't because they shine below, With my Redeemers light?

CANT. I. 16.

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, plea∣sant.

HYMN 25.

NAy, thou art fair, my Love, not I: Beauty keeps house in thee alone. There is no Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars, But thou art All and every One. Away fond Pleasures, fleeting Joys: Would I had never lov'd you so: You smiling, but beguiling Toys: I've got a wound, and you my foe. Come dearest Lord! O let me taste Of Pleasures that are more Divine: For those are gone, but these will last; With these refresh this heart of mine. How pleasant are thy smiles, when I Under the guilt of Sin do lye! When I damnation every hour Expect, how pleasant is thy pow'r! How pleasant are thy ways to me! Thine Ordinances all are so: To Eat and Drink, and Feast with thee, There's no such pleasure I do know.

But O! when I shall come to dye, And see thy Face in endless bliss, And shall embrace the Man himself: There is no Pleasure like to this.

CANT. I. 16.

—Our bed is green.

HYMN 26.

THou hast prepar'd a Bed of love; 'Tis richly furnish'd with the best: Where thou and I eternally, Shall in each others Bosom rest: Our Bed is always green; it knows No Winter blasts, nor no such thing: It's always budding, fruitful grows: An ever, everlasting Spring. When vain delights transport the Rich, And seem to court the Men of pleasure: They'r wither'd soon, and quickly gone, And fall full short in weight and measure. Give me those spiritual Joys, O Christ! Whose colour green, will ever last: And think on me, while here I be, And send me now and then a tast. My Soul revive! comfort thy heart, 'Mid'st all the troubles thou had seen:

Revive! for tho the Stairs be dark, The Chamber's light, our Bed is Green. All Glory give to God above, And to our Jesus, God and Man: And to the Holy Ghost also, With all the Strength and Praise we can.

CANT. I. 17.

The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir.

HYMN 27.

COme let us sing the Praise Of our eternal House: Whose firm foundation is in Grace, Free Grace hath fram'd it thus: In Glory finished, Topstone in Glory lai'd, Rasters and Beams: eternal streams Of Love and Light display'd: Come let us enter, Grace, And here together dwell; Till I provide a better place, Let's rest us here a while. But, oh, that house above, When thither we shall come;

It's built so sure, it shall endure An everlasting home. Wilt thou accept, O Christ! Of such a one as I? Poor I! to take a Lease of thee, For all Eternity? Wilt thou accept, said he, Of such a one as I, That must thy sinful will controul? Come then, we both comply.

Finis Cap. 1.

Deo laus.