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. II. 1.

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lilie of the vallies.

HYMN 28.

SHaron, the Garden of the World, The Pride of Palestine; Whose natural soyl more glory bore, Then Sol'mon could resign.

Could ne're produce so sweet a Rose, As I w ll be to thee: So sair a Lilly never grew: Sharon must stoop to me. My Church, I praise my self; not Pride, But hope of Custome makes me: Who'l have a Rose? a Lilly, who? VVhere is the Soul that takes me? Upon the Cross I was distill'd: Come taste in distillation The sweetness of the absent Rose, By Faith and Acceptation. Thou art my Rose, my Souls repose; O let me never be, My dearest Lord, a Thorn to thee, That art a Rose to me. Thou art the Lilly of the Vale, A matchless Purity. Let me be gather'd by thy Hand, And in thy Bosome lye.

CANT. II. 2.

As the lilie among the thorns, so is my love a-among the daughters.

HYMN 29.

MY Church! my Love! thou art to me, A pleasant Lily, pure and white: The Daughters all, compar'd to thee, Are Thorns and Briars in my sight. 'Tis thee I prize, and singly place My heart upon thy self alone: False Creatures, tho I have their face, Are pricking Briars every one. Take it not ill, my Love, from me, That I have plac'd thy dwelling so, Incompass'd round where En'mies be: As mid'st the thorns the Lilies grow. I'le make these thorns preserve thee safe, And keep thee from a worser foe: O, they shall save thee from the bite, Of that devouring Beast below. They shall fence out both Sin and Hell, Let out Corruption, slay thy Pride: So near thee they should never dwell, But for advantage on thy side.

Now blessed Jesus, grant me this, That I may such a Lily be, And let these Thorns and Briars be A Preservation unto me.

CANT. II. 3.

As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons—

HYMN 30.

THou art to me an Apple-tree, My God, for fruit and shade: An Apple-tree thou art to me: Thy fruit will never fade. Trees of the Wood, are not so good, Their Fruits are none, or sowr: An harbour they for Birds of prey, That will the Fruit devour. Better than all the Sons thou art, Hast been, and ever shall: The Angels are the Sons of God, But thou excell'st them all. The Saints are Sons of great delight, Adoption makes them so: But Son of God, and Son of Light! There's no such Son below.

The first-born Son, is Mother's dear, Her Life wrapt up in his: But not a Son can come so near My heart, as Jesus is. O! let this Apple▪tree, my Lord, Within my Orchard be: Propriety makes all things sweet, Or else no sweet to me.

CANT. II. 3.

—I sat under his shadow with great delight—

HYMN 31.

LIke as the shadow from the heat, Protects and cools the panting Neet: So doth my Soul to covert fly; Under thy wings, O Christ, to lye. Should'st thou let fall thy brightest Rays, It would consume my Life and Days: I cannot see thy Glory yet; Thy shadow will me better fit. How glorious are thy Saints above, That see thy Face in purest love! When such delights thy shadow can, Contribute to me, sinful man? My Soul! when he is shadow'd forth, In Sacramental shades to thee;

'Tis but the Picture of his worth; But what he is, thou dost not see. O, then sit under these sweet shades, And often guide thy footsteps thither: Till we ascend to brighter glades; In shadows lets sit down together. Be quiet, thoughts, thou irksom Flesh; Would thou wert crucifi'd to me! To see no sights▪ tast no delights, Nor know no earthly thing but thee.

CANT. II. 3.

—And his fruit was sweet unto my tast▪

HYMN 32.

THE bitter tree, the Cross, Bore him that bore the fruit; The choicest Fruit that ever was, His Father call'd him to't. There Pardon▪ grew, and Peace With God, with Man, within: A Fruit that did transcend by far The cursed fruit of Sin. Sweet pleasure is but pain; Swert profits are deceit: The best of all the World, at best, Is but a subtil cheat▪

He, he's the fruitful tree, His fruits all pleasant be. No Joys or Toys that ere I found, Are half so sweet as he. Here I may fill my heart: O, let me have a taste: My Christ, my Fruit, thou only art, As long as Life shall last. As thou bear'st fruit for me, Let me bear Fruit to thee▪ Do thou incline this heart of mine, That All-divine it be.

CANT. II. 4.

He bronght me to the banqueting house▪—

HYMN 33.

WOnder of Mercy! now I see, And have great cause to think upon, VVhat Grace is, when it will be free, And puts its Royal cloathing on. I that deserv'd to stand at Dore, And take my Answer on my Knee; Into the House of all his Store, Himself vouchsafes to carry me. O, the rich welcome that he gave; My thirsty Soul at first approach!

He brought me Sweet-Meats out himself▪ And set his choicest VVine abroach: Into his house of VVine he brings me, Leading me kindly, hand in hand, And, smiling, bids me pass the dores, VVhere all his richest treasures stand. Himself the House and Banquet is: His Presence with me, is a Feast: His Smiles are Sweet-meats, all of his, Is all in all, to every Guest. My Soul get off this dunghil VVorld, Strive to ascend the blessed Mount: No Treats but these, will ever please, Or turn to any good account.

CANT. II. 4.

—His banner over me was love.

HYMN 34.

WHat Victories I ever got, VVhat Lusts l've overcome: To my own strength ascribe I not, But to his Grace alone: My Banner was his love to me, All my success was his: His Standard call'd me forth, and he My strength and safety is.

Do but, O Christ, O do but say, Thou lov'st me; that's enough: Love is all VVeapons of array; Love Armor is of proof: Love me, my God, I need no more; My God, I ask no more: I perish if thou lov'st me not, The Battel is so sore. Here's Sin, the VVorld, the Devil and Death; Combin'd to bring me low: I'm almost beaten out of Breath, (Some help!) they vex me so: O, do but love me, and I shall Banners of love display, VVill break their hearts, and rout them all, And Victor get the day.

CANT. II. 5.

Stay me with flaggons: comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.

HYMN 35.

O What redundant love is this! What flowing streams break down the banks! More than enough, O Lord, it is; Love me but less, I'le give thee thanks.

Here's love beyond all bounds and measure, So free, so full, so large, so quick: 'Tis strange to see so vast a treasure. Love made me well, and makes me sick. But sick for more, and sick to see, The Fountain whence these streams do flow; Yet sick for more▪ and sick to be In place where this vast love doth grow. Stay me with Flaggons of that Wine, Was prest out of thy self, the Vine: Thy Blood, O Christ, will stay the Fire, That burns in me, sick with desire. O, let the Apples of my love, Cool Fires in my Love▪sick heart: Till I below, and thou above, Shall meet at last, and never part. Till I am sick, I am not well: O that I had this sickness Lord, Such Joy doth in love sickness dwell, Such as my health could ne're afford.

CANT. II. 6.

His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.

HYMN 36.

MY aking head and heart, Thou hast a hand to stay; Another hand that shall impart, Embraces all the day. In both thy hands, O Christ, My safety is secured: Within the foldings of thy arms, My Soul is safe immured. Castles and Towers are No safeguard in my case; Nor all the Oceans Oaken walls, With me have any place: Only his circling Arms, As with a Wall of Fire; Defends me from the dreadful harms, Which Sin and Hell conspire: Besides the help that's in't; The Love that streams this way, Conveys more Spirits to my heart, Than fear can take away.

It is, O let it be, The great support I find; That when I faint for want of thee, Thou have me in thy mind.

CANT. II. 7.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and hinds of the field, that ye sti•• not up, nor awake my Love, until 〈◊〉〈◊〉 please.

HYMN 37.

O Let him take his rest, that hath Travell'd so long, so far, To rescue Souls from burning wrath; O, make it all your care, You Daughters of Jerusalem; You that pretend to love him. O, give him no disturbance then, Nor to disquiet move him. I charge you by the Hinds and Roes; Those loving Creatures shall Witness against you as your foes, And on you Vengeance call. If you more bruitish than the Beast, That wont molest his Master,

Shall by your Sin disturb his rest, And bring him to disaster. O Christ, my Love! Give thou the charge, The house and all is thine: O, take the Keys and the walk at large, Command whate're is mine. I cannot bind them to the Peace, A weak and private man: Authority can make them cease, Let Sin do what it can.

CANT. II. 8.

The voice of my beloved! behold he comes leaping upon the mountains, and skipping up∣on the hills.

HYMN 38.

'TIs my beloveds Voice, I'm sure, 'Tis not a Stranger's fallacy: That breatheth in the Word so pure, In which I learn that he is nigh: Behold, I see him coming, tho The Hills and Mountains of the Earth: The great Zanzumming Tyrants do Oppose his Actions in their birth. Behold he comes, you Princes all, That have oppos'd his Royal Will;

You must expect a dreadful fall, That Vengeance should your Besomes fill. Leaping and Skipping on the Hills, Trampling upon your greatest Pow'rs, Dancing with pleasurable skills; He'l pull down all your lofty Tow'rs: Behold he comes, you shall not hinder, No difficulty stands before him, But he'l be sure to tread it under, And shortly make your Crowns adore him. Make haste, my God, make no delay; Thy waiting Spouse hath long sat up; O, make thee Wings, and come away; Give Antichrist her bitter Cup.

CANT. II. 9.

My beloved is like a Roe, or young Hart—

HYMN 39.

O My beloved Lord! To me thy grace afford: The flames of thy sweet love to me, Kindle my love to thee. Give me but leave to love thee, That art so much above me: Let me be bold to let thee know, To thee my self I owe.

My God, my heart is thine; 'Tis thine, it is not mine: Let me but love, and call thee so; It's all the bliss I know. Thou art a pleasant Roe, Hunted to Death below; Whose Flesh and Blood for Sinners need, Is Meat and Drink indeed. Thou art a loving Hart, Kill'd with a murd'ring dart: A murd'ring dart that drew a flood, Of dear and precious blood: O, let that Blood me purge, From Sins, Filth, Guilt, and Scourge, And let that broken Flesh me Feast, Till I with thee shall rest.

CANT. II. 9.

—He standeth behind our wall, he looks forth out at the windows, he shews himself through the lattices.

HYMN 40.

HE shews himself in cloudy gleams, Obscure and Window-Visions: Glimpses of Love, and twilight beams, And dark Illuminations.

Why doth my Love immure his Face, And shrow'd himself behind our Wall? The Lattices Eclipse his Grace, And Windows interrupt his call: Is it because the visive Powers Of Mortals can't endure his sight; Or to distinguish these dark hours, From those that shine in perfect light? What ere it be, 'tis just that he Should now and then withdraw his Face: And 'tis rich Grace to let me see, The least glance in the darkest place. Behind our Wall, is not so far, That I should think him wholly gone: These Lattices and Windows are Helps to discern he'l come anon. A clearer sight, O, that I could Obtain! a sight that doth excel: There is no fear that e're I should Admire too much, or Love too well.

CANT. II. 10.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.

HYMN 41.

WHose is this rousing Voice, I hear, That breathes so sweet an Air, Through Walls and Lattices? so dear, So ravishing, so rare! 'Tis my Beloved's voice, I know, That Courts my drousie mind: That bids me rise from things below, And leave my self behind. Arise, my Love, and come away, Rouse from thy Morning sleep: Rise up, my fair One, no delay; Tho lock't in Slumbers deep. My God, I come, I find no rest, No Bed of Ease, but thee: The present World is at the best, A Bed of Thorns to me. My God, I come; but oh, how loath▪ I've drunk a sleeping Cup: And O, the dulness! O the sloath! Dear Jesus help me up:

Then will I come away, and leave My Sins and Fears behind me: Farwel vain Pleasures, let me go, And let my Jesus find me.

CANT. II. 11.

For lo, the Winter is past, the rain is ov•• and gone.

[Ver. 12] The time of singing of birds is com••, the voice of the Turtle is heard in our land

[Ver. 13] The fig-tree putteth forth her gre•• figs, and the Vines with the tender grape•• give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fai•• one, and come away.

HYMN 42.

REjoice ye people of the Lords, There is a glorious day; There is a day will break your Cords, And fright your Fears away: The Winter blast is almost past; Farwel the Rain and Flood: Now Antichrist no more shall tast The sweet of Martyrs blood. There comes a Church-reviving Spring; The Flow'rs adorn the Earth:

The Turtles with the Birds do sing; All hearts are full of Mirth. A time when every Tree shall yield, A pleasant Fruit to God: And all the Creatures of the Field, Shall feel no more his Rod. Rise then, my Love, and come away, Stand ready for the time: Prepare thee, for this long'd for day, And let it find thee mine. Awake! behold, I'm at the door, Let me not find thee sleeping: My Spirit is up, I'le quickly put An end to all thy weeping.

CANT. II. 14.

O my Dove! that art in the clefts of the rocks, in the secret places of the stairs: let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

HYMN 43.

MY mournful, chast and harmless Dove, My Spouse thou art, and thee I love: I've hide thee in the craggy Rock, As if secur'd by Key and Lock.

The clefts and rendings of my Side, Op'ned a passage to my Heart, And there my Dove shall safe abide, And thou and I will never part: The Hawks, and other Fowl's of prey; The Winter Storms of Persecution, Shall but intice my Dove away, And cleave my Heart for her Admission▪ The secret places of the Stairs, Where she retreats to breathe her Pray'rs, Are open to my view; my Dove, I'le meet thee there, and shew my Love▪ O, let me hear thy Voice, my Dear, Tho broke and inarticulate: Thy Nonsense I'le be glad to hear, And prize the Pray'r which thou dost hate▪ O, let me see thee now and then, That sees thee always from my place. Present thy self once and agen; It's joy to me to see thy Face.

CANT. II. 15.

••ake us the Foxes, the little Foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes.

HYMN 44.

TAke us the subtil Foxes, Lord, They are too wise for us to take: They spoil thy holy places, and Intrenching there their Burrows make. They bark and peil the fruitful Vines: O tender thou the tender Grapes: Surround them by thy wakeful pow'r, Till it be said, not one escapes. Let them be taken in their craft, Thou in the Trenches dig their Graves: Pluck off their Foxes skin, and drown Their Carcases in wrathful Waves. Let all the World see what they are, Let them not cheat thy Churches more: Entrap them in the traps they lay, And lay their Sin at their own door. Blessed Redeemer keep my Soul; A weak and tender Grape am I, A tender Grape that can't escape A little Foxes subtilty.

Preserve thy Chruch, and her desend, From Lions teeth, and Foxes wiles: So will we sing to our great King, When thou shalt bless our Cheeks with (smiles.

CANT. II. 16.

My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feeds among the lilies.

HYMN 45.

O Blessed day, that I can say, My Jesus, thou art mine: O blessed day, that I can say, My Jesus, I am thine! My Christ is mine by deed of gift, And that's a title good: And I am his by purchase right, He bought me with his Blood. I'le have no other Love but he, I like my choice so well: He'l have no other Spouse but me; Together let us dwell: He feeds among the Lilies white; There he doth most frequent: Amongst his Saints, all his delight Is plac'd to his content▪

Their Graces are his sweet repast, Their Pray'rs and Praises are A Banquet to him, and their Faith His most delicious Fare: O let but me, and this Church be A Field of Lilies, where My Christ may feast, what likes him best, Upon his sent-in chear.

CANT. II. 17.

Until the day break, and the shadows flee a∣way: turn my beloved, and be like the Roe▪ or the young. Hart upon the mountains of Bether.

HYMN 46.

WHy stays the lingring Day? What ails the Morning light, To lye a Bed so long, while I Am longing for its sight? There is a Nuptial day Shall perfect all ere long: When all the shades shall flee away, And all the Saints shall throng Into the Bridal room, And coalesce in one:

One Heart, one Spouse, to Christ alone, Made so by Union. A bright and glorious day, No clouds shall hide the Sun: And universal Joy shall raise The heart of every one. The glorious Angels shall These Nuptials celebrate, And gladly sound their Trumpets round, At a Triumphant rate. Till then, protect me Lord, And turn thy steps to me: O hasten, hasten, all thou canst; Delays Distractions b••▪ O, be thou like the Roe, With winged speed make haste, Or as a Hart that runs apart, On Bethers Mountains fast.

Finis Cap. 2.

Triuni gratias.