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. VI. 1.

Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turn∣ed aside? that we may seek him with thee?

HYMN 99.

STrange character, as e're we heard! But is he so indeed? We'l seek him too, if this be true, We'l seek him with all speed. This is the Man that onely can Put all things out of doubt: That will be Joy, and Heav'n to us, If we can find him out: Come then and let's together seek him, As▪ hungry men their food. And if it be our Bliss to meet him, He'l be our chiefest good. O how our hearts are set on fire! Pray help us seek him too:

O how we burn with hot desire! We'l seek as well as you: My soul! desires get desires, As Bellows blow the Flame; As I have seen, where wood is green And Coals to Billets came. 'Tis all the glory Mortals can, Bring to the blessed Jesus, To others to commend his Name, Whose matchless worth will please us.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 50.

IS this the Christ — The lover of thy soul? Is this the Blest — Whose loss thou dost condole? These praises high — Have set our hearts on fire: Let us come nigh — We burn with hot desire. We'l seek him too — We know not where to mend us, We'l go with you — If you'l so far befriend us. O happy day — That ere we met with you, To lead the way — If what you speak be true: This is the man — If we can find him out, That only can — Put all things out of doubt: O, this is he — Whom if we find, we find All things that be — And can enrich the mind. My Soul! 'tis good — Desires get desires; 'Tis others food — As fire kindles fires: Thus have I seen — The Bellows raise a flame, When wood was green — And Coals to Billets came. 'Tis all the glory — Poor Worms can bring to Jesus, To lay before ye — The matchless worth may please us▪

CANT. VI. 2.

My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the garden, and to gather lilies.

HYMN 100.

COme then, and let us go Into his Gardens, where The Spices smell, and Lilies grow▪ And we shall find him there. Where fruitful People meet, As Lily-roots abound: In Beds all plac'd, and Spices sweet, There he is to be found. Where he may feast himself With most Divine delight, And have the sweetest tasts of love; Where Saints meet in his sight. Where holiness abounds, And where his Spirit breathes, And where his Fathers Praises sounds; With these his Life he leads. Come then, and let us go, And leave these barren Fields! For here's no Flow'r, no Fruit, and so Nothing true Pleasure yeilds.

The Worlds a barren Heath; The Church his Garden is, And all his Saints are all his Plants; His Presence is their bliss.

CANT. VI. 3.

I am my beloveds, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.

HYMN 101.

O What a mercy'tis, that I Deserted thus, should feel a glance Of love dart from his pleasing eye, Thus wounded by desertions lance! I've lost him; yet I find a ray, That drives my fright and fears away: Howe▪re, I pine in bitterness; I'm sure he's mine, and I am his. Thus have I seen a sudden ray, Dispel the Clouds and gild the day. Under Vine-leaves a cluster hid, And faith that can all fears outbid. How bright is Faith in Bridal-robe, Whose language is, My Lord, my God! My Christ, whom I Monopolize, And can him call my only prize!

There is in that same pronoun My, A choice and sweet Divinity. What is a glorious God to me, If I can't lay my claim to thee? I say, he's mine, and I am his, And humbly seal it with a kiss: Angels, is Heaven for none but you? O! this to me is Heaven too.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 50.

BLess me my God — What beam of Heaven is this? Display'd abroad — The day desertion is: I've lost my Love — And yet I find a ray, Dart from above — That drives my frights away. I'm sure he's mine — I am sure I am his: Howe're I pine — And mourn in Bitterness. Thus have I seen — The Sun by sudden ray; The clouds contemn — And shine and gild the day. There is a cluster — Under the Vine-leaves hid, When faith shall muster — And false fears out-bid. How bright is Faith — When in the Bridal-robe, A full blown Faith — Whose Language is, My God. My Christ is all — Whom I Monopolize, And can him call — My Love, my only Prize, And say, I know — He's mine, and I am his: And in it grow — Seal'd with a holy kiss. Angels admire — Is Heaven for none but you? Let me aspire — O, this is Heaven too!

CANT. VI. 4.

Thou art beautiful, my love, as Tirzah: as comely as Jerusalem: terrible as an army with banners.

HYMN 102.

I'Le now unvail my self, I'le cloud my love no longer, I'le now appear to quench your thirst, And satisfie your hunger. I love those holy Fires, That kept themselves alive; When almost drown'd with Seas of Tears, Thy Graces yet did thrive. Thou art all fair, my Love; Thou art so very comely: Thou art to me so beautiful, That I admire thee only. Like Tirzah's famous Citie, Where Kings did keep their Courts, Or like that fair Jerusalem, Whose strong impregnant forts; Whose terror struck their foes, Made them to fly the place: Such is thy Valour, O my Love, Such Thunder in thy Face.

Rome, Hell, the World and Flesh, The Devil, Death and Sin: Under thy Hand do trembling stand, Such terrors are they in. It was my strength, not thine, That bare so dark a test: The strength is mine, by which thou shalt Soon vanquish all the rest.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 104.

THou art fair, my Love, Thou art very comely, Thou art beautiful; I admire thee only. Tirzah's famous City, Where Kings kept their Courts, Makes me think on thee, Whose impregnant forts Terror-strike thy Foes, Conquer all that come; With thy Swords and Shields, Battering Hell and Rome. World, Flesh, Devil, and Sin, Death, trembling stand: Nothing stands before Thy Victorious hand.

Thy Arms Armies are, Thy Faith a sharp Spear. All thy Graces are Swords to make them fear: Such art thou, my Love, With thee is my strength: Arm'd by me, thou shalt Conquer all at length.

CANT. VI. 5.

Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome him—

HYMN 103.

SAint, turn away thine eyes from me, For they do overcome me. Thy piercing Eye-beams wound my heart; Turn them, O turn them from me. 'Tis not thy fleshly Eyes, my Dear, For they are my disgust: No better they then filthy Styes, And Caterers for Lust. But 'tis those inward Eyes that pierce me; Those souly beams of Light, That searching eye of strong Desire, That found me in the Night.

That shot its rays about the dark, And sparkled all with Fire: And that same Eye of Faith it was The life of that desire, That was so restless, till it found Its truly long'd-for Jesu; And was well-nigh in sorrow drown'd, Till I had said, I'le ease you. Eyes that were turned unto me, When I was turned from thee, Have made me fear the letting out Of too much Love upon thee.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 104.

TUrn away thine eyes, They do overcome me: Beauty in them lyes, Matchless; turn them from me. Eyes are tempting things, Mortals find them so▪ Eyes have conquer'd Kings, Brought their Scepters low. 'Tis not fleshly Eyes, They are my disgust: They are sinf••l Styes, They are darts of Lust.

That Eye of Desire, That did find me out: And sparkling with fire, Shot its rays about. Restless, till it found Its beloved Jesu, And in Sorrow drown'd, Till I said, I'le ease you. That same Eye of Faith, Whose bright darts could kill All that Sorrow, saith, Hopeless trusting still. Eyes that turned to me, When I turn'd away: O, these eyes undo me, Conquering get the day. I fear, O my Saints, I should Love too much: My heart strongly pants; Love to you is such.

CANT. VI. 5.

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

HYMN 104.

NOw I will praise her for her hair, The modest covering of her head; The emblem of that Loyalty, That in subjection's hand is lead. Her hairs like Counters; cast the sum, Numberless numbers of her sins, And having washt my feet with tears, With hairs to wipe them she begins. The Goats on Gileads mountains bear A long and soft, and useful hair: But no such Hair as hers, whose tresses Adorns her face with pleasing dresses. Wo to the Crown of Pride, whose hair, Whose long and bushy Locks declare, A bruitish Custom every where, And only used for a Snare. The long hair'd Gallants of these times, Wear Horses mains on humane Faces: Turn men to Monsters, and the work Of God and Nature much disgraces.

God in a bush did once appear, But in their bush hath never been▪ They'l never leave till Satan come, And thrust a burning Candle in.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 111.

THe covering of her head, With which she is bested. Her hair▪ the embleme is Of lovely Loyalty; Subjection under me: O what an honour 'tis! With these she casts the sums, As well it ▪her becomes, The number of her sins; And having wash't my feet, VVith hair, a Towel meet, To wipe them she begins. VVo to the Crown of Pride, VVho to her Sins beside, Hath added every where, Such loathsome heads of hair, Us'd only for a Snare, To those that foolish are. That marry Horfes mains, To humane Heads▪ whose gains

They must receive in Hell: God in a Bush was seen, But never hath he been, VVhere this proud Bush doth dwell.

CANT. VI. 6.

Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep, which goeth up from the washing, whereof every one bear∣eth twins, and there is not one barren among them.

HYMN 105.

MY Spouse, I'le add, to praise thee more, And will repeat again: Think not, that I'le abate my Love, Distasted at thy sin. Those teeth are washt and double set, They eat my Flesh and Blood: I am thy spiritual food of Life, I am thy chiefest good. Thy grinders are thy Faith in me, Thy Faith a stomach hath. O, how I love to see thee seed! How lovely is thy Faith? I'le wash thy teeth in Milk, and be A Breast, a Feast, a Table,

A Saviour to thy Faith and Thee: Fear not, for I am able. I'le make thy Faith bring forth her fruits, As twinning Sheep their young: I'le water both the stem and roots, And then I'le freely come: I'le come with joy and great delight, To see my Flocks a feeding, As Shepherds use; I'le bless my sight, To see my Sheep a breeding.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 111.

I'Le praise my Church yet more, To what I said before; I will repeat again, She shall not think that I, Cause she was faulty, fly, Or in Affection wane. Her teeth wherewith she chews Her food, that Life renews, Are washt and double set; I am her spiritual food, I am her chiefest good: I'le never her forget. Her grinders are her Faith, Her Faith a stomack hath,

To feed upon my Flesh; The washing is my blood: I'le cleanse her in that flood, And so her soul refresh. Her Faith is fruitful too, More then false faith can do, Or barren doubts and fears: She eats my Flesh, and drinks My Blood, and no man thinks VVhat lovely Fruit she bears.

CANT. VI. 7.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.

HYMN 106.

HAve you not been, where you have seen The red and blushing Pomgranate, All overspread with Rosy-red, As natures bounty did create? Her Face a Virgins blush adorns, Spread with all ruby bashfulness: A Face of Brass she highly scorns, But comeliness commends her dress. No crisp profanes her modest hair; Content with Natures Ornament.

She scorns to go profanely bare; Or give to Pride a foolish vent. 'Tis Nature, not base Art adorns her: No Hypocrite in Face or Heart; A painted piece, Religion scorns her; The Hypocrite and God must part. She blusheth, 'cause she cannot blush; And fears, because she fears no more. Sense of her Sin doth always flush Her modest Face, and grieve her sore. My Soul! this Consternation due, Becomes the holy Virgin-Bride; Of that same bleeding Lover who For thy Salvation gladly dy'd

Another to the Tune of Psal. 112.

HAve you not been where you have seen, The red and blushing Pomegranate, All overspread with Rosy-red, As Natures bounty did create? Thy Cheeks and Temples, O my Spouse, Modesty crowns, and so thy Brows: Thy Face a Virgin-blush adorns Spread with a ruby bashfulness; A face of Brass thou highly scorns, But comeliness commends thy dress.

Thy Guilt and Sin in which to blame, As with a Pencil paints thy shame. No Crisp prophanes thy modest hair; Content with Natures Ornament▪ Thou scorn'st to go prophanely bare▪ Or give to pride a foolish vent: 'Tis Nature, not base Art adorns thee: A painted piece, Religion scorns thee. My Soul this consternation due Becomes the holy Virgin-Bride, Of that same bleeding Lover who, For thy Salvation gladly dy'd. Bold steps in Sin, let me not trace; But guilty, hide my blushing Face.

CANT. VI. 8.

There are threescore queens, and fourscore concu∣bines, and virgins without number.

[Vers. 9] My dove, my undefiled is but one: she is the onely one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her.

HYMN 107.

I Am no Bigamist, I have no Concubines, It's onely one Church I admit; One Child; I have no Twins:

My Church is more to me, And so she ever shall, Than all things in the world that be, Could I prevail at all. Could I but gain her Love, My heart would Captive be, And all my Pains, would be my gains, My Cross, my Melodie. Let there be Threescore Queens, And Fourscore Concubines, And Virgins numberless, that catch Fools in their snaring gins. My Loved is but one, That one is more than they: There is more worth in her alone: The Sun 'tis makes it day, Away false Beauties all, My loved one, is One; I love but one, and she shall call Her self, my Spouse alone.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.

MY Church is more to me than all The things that are, or ever shall: My heart's a Captive to her Love, I'me held in these desir'd chains, As recompenc'd for all my pains; Could I but her Affections move. Let there be Threescore Queens in Thrones, And Fourscore Concubines at once, And Virgins numberless also, This one of mine outshines the Day, She is but one, yet more than they; And more to me, as Angels know. Thus several Members in one Man, Epitomiz'd into a span, Concenter still to make him one: Thus Seas have many Rivers, yet All these in the same Ocean met, Make up but one Reception: So is my undefiled Love, Kingdoms her greater Members prove, And lesser Churches are her parts; And every Saint a Member is: And they are many, yet all this Is but one Center-nest of hearts.

CANT. VI. 9.

The Daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they prai∣sed her.

HYMN 108.

HOw lovely are my precious Saints In others Eyes, as well as mine! Let Baalam speak: or else let those That never found her yet Divine! 'Tis easie to commend the way: No man can speak against the Truth; The natural Conscience hath a ray: But happy he, the Chase pursu'th: 'Tis hard to yield the heart: but why Should not the heart be yielded? when The way of Saints, the best of ways, And they are sure the best of Men. And why not yield the heart? when as The God of Saints, the best of Gods, And his Love is the best of Loves, And their Loves are the best, by odds? Come all ye Angels of the Heavens, Come all the World, I'le joyn with you: Come help me Love, my loved Prize: I love her; do you Love her too.

Let Queens admire their own desires: And Concubines their lustful fires: I'le love my own, and onely Love, And nothing shall my Heart remove.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.

THe people saw her sparkling Rays, And did upon her Beauty gaze, And call'd my Church a blessed one: And Queeus and Concubines, whose hearts Had never felt what love imparts, Yet spake her commendation. Thus Baalam cry'd, How comely are Thy Tents, O Israel? how fair? Yet had no heart to yield the fort. 'Tis easie to commend the way; The natural conscience hath a ray: But O! 'tis hard to yeild the heart. And why not yeild the heart now? VVhen My Saints are sure the best of men; And this their way the best of ways. Their God the best of gods, and when Their VVork the best of works, and then The best of Joys for endless days? Let Queens admire their own desires, And Concubines their lustful fires,

And Virgins dote on whom they please. I'le love my own and only Love, And nothing shall my heart remove; 'Tis thine my Dove, here take the Keys.

CANT. VI. 10.

Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, terrible as an army with banners?

HYMN 109.

WElcome the time, that brings the news, Of the Returning of the Jews: Whose Kings are all in Armour drest, And Sions foes are dispossest. A new created people, which Unlookt-for, shall the World enrich, And give my Foes a final fall, And make the Nations tremble all. This is the lovely Morning-light, That breaks out of a darksome Night; And gradually advanceth forth, Like to the Sun's resplendent worth. Heirs of the Promise, tho kept out; Whose are the Covenants, no doubt, Tho long sequestred for their sin, And sad the case that they were in.

Lo, now the Morning twilight dawns, And they come marching o're the lawns. Equip't for blood, like men of War; Their sleeping Souls awak'ned are. O, what a glorious sight is this! O what a heart-rejoicing 'tis! That those that at a distance stood; Return the purchase of my blood!

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.

NEws from the Confines of the East, There Kings in Armour all are drest, To make the Nations tremble all. A new created People, which Unlook for, shall the World enrich, And give my Foes a final fall. This is a lovely Morning light, That breaks out of a darksome Night, And gradually advanceth forth: First, as the Moon in dusky fair, Then as the Sun with light most clear: Who's this? and what her splendent worth? Heirs of the Promise, tho keept out; Whose are the Covenants, no doubt,

Tho long sequestred for their sin. Lo, now the Morning twilight dawns, And they come marching o're the lawns, From out the Dungeons they were in. O! what a glorious sight is this? O! what a heart-rejoicing 'tis, That now the purchase of my Blood, In all my Saints compleated is, And Jews and Gentiles coalesce, That heretofore at distance stood!

CANT. VI. 11.

I went down into the Garden of Nuts, to see the fruits of the Valley, and to see whether the Vine flourished, and the Pomegranates budded.

HYMN 110.

ROuse thee, O Israel, Child of the Valley, where, Put from the presence of the mate; Sad thy rejectings were. O thou hast been to me, Garden of Nuts: so hard, So dry, such husky Shells; from thee All comforts were debar'd.

There was a Kernal, but There was no coming at it; By unbelief thou wert, as if For thy destruction fatted. At last I heard in thee, A ratling of the bones, As if they would together come; And real sighs and groans. I will go down and see Whether the Vines are good, And Grapes abound, and give us hopes, And the Pomegranates bud. If so, the work is done; Thy Foes are put to flight: To Rocks and Mountains they shall run, For shelter, if they might.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124▪

O Israel, Child of the Valley, where No Tongue can tell, What's thy afflicted state, Sequestred from The presence of thy Mate: Whose doom was just, For casting off my fear, And me so soon, Hence thy rejectings were.

Thou'st been to me, Garden of Nuts so hard, So dry, such Husks, Could'st not be opened: Kernel there was, But none upon it fed: Thy unbelief Did thy return retard; And slighting me, Thy Prayer was not heard. At last, I hear A ratling of the Bones, As if they'd come Together suddenly: Thy God will come, And see how all things lye▪ Is it a thing That's real? Are there groans, And tears, and fruits, And supplications? O, doth the Vine Flourish! the Grapes abound, And give us hopes! Do the Pomegrantes bud? Hath God inspir'd Their hearts with real good? Thy God will come, If these be in thee found, And lead thee forth; VVith safety thee surround.

CANT. VI. 12.

Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.

HYMN 111.

SION awake! the day is come; Rouse as a Lion from thy den: Th' alarm sounds, that ne're did yet: My Spirit is up. Awaken then: You Angels get your Chariots ready, Prepare you for this long'd-for day: Hast, hast, come, I am drest already; My Soul's a wing, I cannot stay. Amminadibs Chariots drove fast; But never drove so fast as mine: Amminadib was not in such hast, Nor flew so fast on wings of time. A willing God, a willing People, Both hot upon the same design; They'r both agreed; there's not a scruple, To interpose to while off time. Our Hearts are swifter than our Charets; We'l both conspire from our places: Thou here, and I from lofty Garrets, We'l lift this World from of its basis.

My Soul admire! what hast he speeds, To fetch his Captives out of thrall? With winged flames to help their needs, That pickled lay in Salt and Gall.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124.

ROuse! there is life, The long'd-for day is come: Th' Alarm sounds, Where it ne're sounded yet: Their hearts have ears, They'r peirced to the quick. I'le now go down, And do what's to be done; My heart's on fire▪ I'le be their Light and Sun. You blessed An∣gels, get you Chariots ready: My Royal Spirit Is up, I must away: My Soul is all A-wing, I cannot stay: Amminadib, That drove so fast and steddy, Had not my hast: Come, I am drest already.

A willing God, And willing People met, With resolu∣tions stronger than the Charets▪ They from below, I from my lofty Garrets▪ O, what a great Day's this, When in a net, This wicked World, My Foes, are all beset! My Soul admire! With what a hast he speeds, To fetch his Poor, His Captives out of thrall, This many years, Pickled in Salt and Gall! He comes amain, And drives his fiery Steeds, Like winged flames, To help them at their needs.

CANT. VI. 13.

Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee: what will ye see in the Shulamite? as it were the company of two armies.

HYMN 112.

REturn, return, O Shulamite; Return, return to me: Thy God would bring thee back again; Messiah waits for thee. 'Twill be the Nations wonder, when The Pow'r of this Command Shall knit thy Sinews, giving Life And Vigor to thy hand. This voice, Return, shall rouse thee up From dead sleep thou art under, And Spirit thy benummed Limbs: 'Tis like the voice of thunder. Wake, Judah, gird thy Harness on: Wake to the Battel now: Wake Israel, joyn thy forces with Thy sister Judahs bow. Two Armies, like two floods shall twist Their streams of fire together,

And drink the sinful Nations up, And make their Glory wither. Proud Babel now shall tumble down, And all her Kings shall fall: Now Antichrist hath run her race: Shall be no more at all.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 124.

REturn, return, O Shulamite, return, Return thou Daugh∣ter of fair Sion hill: O, how I long! My Soul is fainting till Thy God shall bring Thee back, and make thee burn With love to thy Messiah dear, and mourn. Return, return, And make the Nations wonder: Now shalt thou feel The Pow'r of this command: I'le give it force, Thou shalt it not withstand: I'le spirit that word With life, and make it thunder, And wake thee from That dead sleep thou art under.

Wake Judah, wake, And girt thy Harness on: Wake Isra'l, wake, VVake to the Battel now: I'le give the VVorld To thee, thy armies too, Shall drink the sin∣ful Nations up, and come And build their Trophies Sions mount upon. Now is the time, Ten shall a thousand chace: Proud Babel now Shall tumble down before ye▪ I'le make her stoop, And all her Kings adore ye. Now Antichrist, Thou'st run thy cursed race: Now Israel, Strike home, and take their place.