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. IV. 1.

Behold, thou art fair, my love, behold thou art fair—

HYMN 57.

I That have made and form'd, By curious Art and Skill: The Beauties of the upper World, According to my Will▪

I that behold and see Those beauties all the day: (Should Mortal eyes but steal a glance, 'Twould take their Lives away:) Yet I say, thou art fair, Thy Graces beauties are: My Fathers face and mine doth shine Upon that Face of thine. The trifling Beauties which Fond Lovers idolize, Are not so fair, nor half so rich As thou art in my Eyes: O how I love that Soul, That's true to God and me! My heart's inclin'd, my Love is blind, Their faults I cannot see. I'le shortly bow the Heav'ns: O how I long to come! I will arise, and rend the Skies, And fetch my fair One home.

CANT. IV. 1.

—Thou hast doves eyes within thy locks—

HYMN 58.

NOw I'le consider in its place, And view my Blood-redeemed prize▪ The sparkling Diamonds of thy Face, The Dove-like Beauty of thine Eyes. Thou hadst an Eye of Flesh was wont To send forth Beams of lustful Fire, That after Vanity did hunt, And fill thy heart with base desires. A wandring tempting rouling Eye, A Casement ope't to let in Sin: But now 'tis chaste, with eyesalve washt, And takes diviner Objects in: But O, that intellectual Eye, Whereby thou seest things unseen; Whose objects quite are out of sight, That eyes me through the darkest Screen! That shines like Diamonds in the dark, Or Stars that brighten blackest Night: Knowledg and Faith such Power hath, To see by Dark as well as Light. My Soul admire, and raise thee higher, With both these Eyes behold that spark,

Whose Beams have giv'n thee light and sight, That once were blind and in the dark.

CANT. IV. 2.

—Thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from mount Gilead.

HYMN 59.

THe hair, the Beauty of the Face, That taking Ornament; That blusheth nothing at disgrace; It's cut, it's shav'd, it's rent; It open lies to all assaults, And yet it feels it not: The Razors shave, the Sizars cut All wrongs are soon forgot. My Church, I love thy Patience, This I admire in thee, Under all injuries content; Those that affront thee, win thee. Like Goats on Gileads Mountains shorn, Stript of their hairy Fleece: Yet not a groan, all wrongs are born, Their sheering breaks no Peace. This warms thy heart, as hair thy head: How ornamental 'tis!

When Patience can impow'r a man To conquer all he sees: With this sweet frame, in love I am: It's rare in my account: To be forgot, and feel it not, Is Patience paramount.

CANT. IV. 3.

Thy lips are like a thred of Scarlet, and thy speech is comely—

HYMN 60.

THy rosie Lips with Scarlet dye, Gives beauty to thy Face: Inflames with love th' Observers eye, A thousand beauties has: Made red, not with thy Blood, but mine; It's from my passion fed; No natural Colour in this World, Can yield so deep a red: O, how I love these ruby Lips, I love to hear them speak; Thy Pray'rs and Praises, Nectar sips, To me, tho faint and weak. Thy Doctrines, Counsels, Cordials are, To me and those that hear them:

Thy sharp reproofs are killing darts, Yet health to those that bear them. My Soul admire, and much desire, Thy Soul's admiring Lover: Be it thy Grace, thy words to place, And tell thy Speeches over, As men tell Gold, O, weigh thy Words, Thy Speech exactly measure: So shall thy King delight to sing, And praise this vocal Treasure.

CANT. IV. 3.

—Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegra∣nate within thy locks.

HYMN 61.

I Love thee, for thy Cheeks, my Spouse, A Virgin blush adorns them: The modesty that crowns thy Brows, A holy shame informs them: Have you not been where you have seen The blushing Pomegranate, All overspread with rosie red, As Nature did create? Thy Temples shaded in thy Locks, With rosie blushes spread,

Doth much express thy bashfulness: True Vertue vails her head. Thy guilt and shame, for what's to blame, Thou canst not face it out: Thy flushings, blushings, fears and tears, Are beauties out of doubt. My Soul! this consternation due, Becomes the Virgin-bride Of that same bleeding Lover, who For thy Salvation dy'd▪ O let me never, never trace, The steps of Sinners bold: Nor hide my Sin, but hide my Face, As with a blush control'd.

CANT. IV. 4.

Thy neck is like the tower of David, builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.

HYMN 62.

YE eldest Sons of living day, Peers of the Upper-House; And all you Commoners below, Come and behold my Spouse. Thy stately Neck, like Davids Tower, Built for an Armoury:

Unites thy Body to thy Head, Never to part; and why, A thousand Shields the promise yields, As many Swords thy Faith, Tho Hell and Devils do their worst, Thy Soul Protection hath. Thou shalt not truckle, no nor buckle To inimical spight: Strong in the Lord thou art, and in The Power of his Might. Thy Fire-breathing Cannons fly In face of all thy Foes: For thee a Davids Tower am I, 'Gainst all that thee oppose: If sin or men infest thee, then Thy Neck a Tower is; Thy Soul, tho tost, shall ne're be lost In such a Tow'r as this.

CANT. IV. 5.

Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.

HYMN 63.

THy Breasts, the seat of Love, And Natures Ornament, With full-pent milky treasures give Thy off-spring nourishment. Such milky streams do flow, To nourish all thy Seed, As fruitful Roes that fat their twins, And midst the Lilies feed. Thy Sons and Daughters are Begat from Heav'n above: A num'rous Off▪spring will appear In that great day of Love: Thou hast two Testaments, Repleat with Milk Divine, With these thou sucklest all my Saints, And mak'st their Faces shine. I must admire the man That springs from such a Father, That strongly draws by Graces laws, The breasts of such a Mother.

Then drink and thirst again, As Babes the Breasts adore: Till thou shalt come to thy blest home, And drink and thirst no more.

CANT. IV. 6.

Until the day breaks, and the shadows flee a∣way, I will get me to the mountains of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.

HYMN 64.

THere is a blessed day will break A glorious Light will shortly come, Whose rays will make the shades betake, As frightned, to their lasting home. A day will drink up all the Rain, And scatter all the Fogs away: And fully rout the dreadful train Of Clouds, that now Eclipse the day. No more shall Sin or Fears bespatter The glorious beauty of thy Face: No more shall bloody Tyrants scatter Their roaring Bulls in every place. There is a day and door of hope; (I mean, to hasten all I can) That will surprize both Turk and Pope, And the blood-thirsty wicked man.

Till then, the mount of Myrrh above, And Heaven's hill of Frankincense, Must for a while obscure my Love, And Person, from the eye of sence. But do not fear! from that Ascent, As from a Mountain, I can see (And did before) how all things went: Till then, do thou confide in me.

CANT. IV. 7.

Thou art all fair, my Love, there is no spot in thee.

HYMN 65.

MY Love, thou art all fair, In thee no spot appears: I▪ve washt thee white, from what was black, In precious blood and tears: Thy parts are all inspir'd, All Graces in thee shine: Each faculty my Love hath fir'd, And charm'd that heart of thine. Degrees are wanting still; 'Tis yet thy Infant-state: But yet we can spell out a man, In Limbs that are not great.

I'le pollish thee, my Dove! I'le off with every spot; I'le drive the trade till it be said, What Graces hast thou not! Thy Sin and Guiltiness, My Royal Robe shall cover, And my imputed Righteousness, Shall make thy God thy Lover: My Soul! 'tis done for ever: For ever praise his name; His Blood was shed, thy Sins are dead, Never to rise again.

CANT. IV. 8.

Come with me from Lebanon (my Spouse) with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Ama∣na, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions dens, from the mountains of the leopards.

HYMN 66.

ANd now my welbeloved Spouse, Since I have set thee free, And clear'd thy stains, that none remains, Now love thy self and me. Come, Royal Princess, come with me, Thou shalt not come alone:

My presence shall thy Conduct be, Only consent and come▪ From Lebanon, that Mount of Pleasures, And from Amana too: These barren Mountains yield no treasure, Arise and let us go From Lions jaws, and Leopards paws, And all the wicked rout: From Traytors gins, and Spoylers dens; Come, I will lead thee out. There's nothing can degrade a man, Like bruit-Society, Or make him from his Essence come, Like wicked company: Resolved then, I'le leave these men, Whom I did once adore▪ At Jesus call, I'le leave them all, And ne're come at them more.

CANT. IV. 9.

Thou hast ravished my heart, my Sister, my Spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.

HYMN 67.

MY Sister, by the Father's side; And Spouse, by all consent: Sister adopt, and Spouse elect, I'm full, and I must vent. My ravisht heart hath felt a dart, And I am all desire: I, who created Fire and Love, With Love am set on Fire. Something hath smote me from thine eye: That eye of Faith, it is, That single wounding eye of Faith, That makes me love thee thus. That dares upon a naked word Of Promise trust me so: That will secure it self of Love, Ev'n whether I will or no. The chain is Love, that draws my Love; Do thou but say, thou lov'st me: It is a chain, I captive am, And nothing e're removes me.

My Soul! fix this same Eye of Faith Upon him stedfastly: Fasten the link with sodring Love, He's thine eternally.

CANT. IV. 10.

How fair is my Love, my Sister, my Spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine oyntments than all spices!

HYMN 68.

THou 'rt fair, my Love, thy Love is fair: How fair I can't express: Better than Wine; but how much better, I leave to thee to guess! Love is heart-chearing wine; bestow A glass of Love upon me, And I'le forget my Sorrows great, The wrongs that have been done me. I have no thirst but for thy Love; Love me, and stay my thirst: O do but try to love me; why? Because I lov'd thee first. Let no perfume henceforth presume, To gratifie my wants; No Spices sweet, my Nostrils greet; There are no sweet but Saints.

I love them with a pard'ning love, Their follies I forgive. I Love them with a lasting love, That shall for ever live. Amazement stops my verse and me! O Lord, that lov'st me thus; O let me never, never be Unkind, ungracious!

CANT. IV. 11.

Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honey▪comb: honey and milk are under thy tongue—

HYMN 69.

THe gracious words thy lips adorn, Like drops of Honey from the Comb: 'Tis Canaan's Language newly born, From a Divine inspired Tongue. Honey and Milk are not so sweet, As savoury Speeches dropping down, That nourish whomsoe're they meet, And from a spir'tual Fountain come. When Lips drop sighs, and Eyes drops tears In penitential sight of Sin: When Speech drops Praises, and strong Pray'rs, It shews a Honey▪comb within.

When nour'shing, and soul▪fatting words, Lye breeding underneath the Tongue: And when due season birth affords, This, this my Love inspires my Song. My Soul, learn this! Are gracious words So sweet to Christ thy dearest friend: Then don't impose upon his nose, The Carr'on stink that base words send. Season my Lips with Salt, my God, And sift my Language from its dross: For why should I so foolishly, With Speeches vain contract my loss?

CANT. IV. 11.

—And the smell of thy garment is like the smell of Lebanon.

HYMN 70.

NAked, and in thy blood▪ before, Unpollisht, rude and rough: I spread my Skirt, and threw quite o're, A Garment large enough: And now like blessed Jacob, in The Priestly Robe, his Mother Vested him with, he passeth fair, And go'th for elder Brother.

Even thus imputed purple smells, When on the Sinner thrown; Like to a Field which God hath blest: Tho borrow'd, 'tis thy own. The fragrant smells of Lebanon, The Mount of Canaans glory: There never was such sweetness as These Garments shed before ye. When once thou gett'st my Garment on, Art with my Merits clothed: My Father takes thee for his Son, And for his best beloved. My God! perfume my Soul, and vest it, And in thy Bosome lay it: Upon thy tender Bowels rest it; 'Tis done, if thou but say it.

CANT. IV. 12.

A garden inclosed is my Sister, my Spouse: a Spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

HYMN 71.

MY Spouse! I have enclosed, And strongly fenc'd thee in, With rocky Walls, and scorching Fire; Thou hast my Garden been.

If men dare scale the Flames, To their own loss they venture: I'le keep thee so on every side; They'l knock, but shall not enter. I'le plant thee with sweet Flow'rs, And every fruitful Tree▪ And all about I'le make me Bow'rs, And take my walks in thee. I'le shut and seal thee up, No dirty foot shall see Thy heavenly Springs and Waterings, Thou shalt my Fountain be. O thou, the Spring of Springs, Whose Fountains always run: Fountain of Fountains, and all things, From thee my Waters come. O thou, the King of kings, Plant thou thy Garden round: Let every walk thy Praises talk, In thee my fruit is found.

CANT. IV. 13.

Thy plants are an Orchard of Pomegranates with pleasant fruits, Camphire with Spikenard. [Ver. 14] Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and Cynamon, with all trees of frankincense, Myrrh and Aloes, with all the chief spices.

HYMN 72.

COme, now, my Sister, let us go, And how see the young of Sets do▪ The Standarts must not stand, I have A better use to put them to. These I'le transplan•• to Paradice, With Glory I will fill their faces: They must be gone, their work is done, The young ones must supply their places. The Lambs, the Babes, my Churches breed, Are a more rav'shing sight to me: Than the Pomegranate full of seed, Or all the Arabian spices be. The Spikenard, Camphire, and the rest Of choicest Aromatick fumes, Are worthless, when they do their best, Let them be buried in their Tombs. But O, the Joy I take to see My pregnant Church her Children bear:

The young ones that convert to me! My choicest Heaven on Earth is there. Young ones awake, since I do take Such pleasure in your budding Graces: Repent, Convert, or 'twill be Death For you to let me see your faces.

CANT. IV. 15.

A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.

HYMN 73.

IF I a Garden am, thou art, O Christ, the living Spring; If I have any sprouting Plants, The Water thou dost bring. No Water, then no Fruit, no growth, No Spire can pierce the Clods: The Fruit I bear, if it be rare, It is not mine, but Gods. My heart was dead the other day, And then sweet Mercy came, And washt it in a Spring of Blood; It came to Life again. My heart was hard, as I may say, As hard as any Stones:

I drench it in the living Spring, And it to softness comes. My heart was cold, as cold as Ice; Some heat it did require: I found the living Waters had In them a living Fire. Now let thy dying, living blood, Stream as from Lebanon: Water my wants, and wash my Plants, Or we are all undone.

CANT. IV. 16.

Awake, O North-wind, and come thou South, blow upon my garden, that the spices there∣of may flow out—

HYMN 74.

I Must have Air and Wind, As well as Water, Lord: Or else my Garden, that is I, No fruit can ere afford: Arise North-wind and South, Rough and serene, both best, And do thou time their gates and thine: In both Ish all be blest. There's not one Plant will thrive, Or Flower hold its scent,

Unless thy Spirit, Lord, contrive To breathe their Nutriment. How will the Spices flow? How will my Graces flourish, If thy sweet Spirit please to blow, And drooping Flowers cherish! For loves-sake let me beg; O Holy Ghost, thy Grace, Thy Breathings, Giftings, Fillings, Seals; Let each work take its place. If my Beloved come, As he a coming is: Not finding me and Fruit at home, He'l say my heart's not his.

CANT. IV. 16.

—Let my my beloved come into his Garden, and eat his pleasant fruit.

HYMN 75.

MY Garden is thy Garden, Lord, Therefore do thou the Winds awake: Let sharp and cold North-winds accord, With gentle South, and their turns take. Sometimes I need a nipping Frost: (Lord, not too sharp, lest all be lost:)

To cross my sin, let me be crost; But Winds serene advantage most. Let North awake and stop; but let The South awake, and come and blow: Too much the North will nip the fruits; But O, the South will make them grow. O Spirit of Love, and harmless Dove, Do thou take wings and fly to me: Or else give wings to climbing Love, And quickly I will up to thee. My Lord, here's little fruit for thee, Tho my Souls Garden do its best: But if thou com'st, there's Fruit for me▪ Tho I have none, I shall be blest. Thus poor Folks entertain the King, And Landlords sit at Tenants table; They have no more, but what they bring, Thou should have more, if I were able.

Finis Cap. 4.

Laus Jehovae.