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. VII. 1.

How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prin∣ces daughter! the joynts of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cun∣ning workman.

HYMN 113.

COme Princes Daughter, come, Born of the Royal Blood: My Father is thy Father, whom To serve's thy chiefest good. I see thy feet are shod With preparation for A sweet returning to thy God, Whom once thou didst abhor. How welcome are thy goings? How beautiful thy feet? These buds that blossom from thy doings, To me are dearly sweet. There's, not a step thou takest, Towards thy Messiah dear; But drops a Jewel to enrich The World both far and near. Jewels are not so rich, As steps that Retrograde:

t is enough to raise a pitch Of Love I never had. Pride not thy self for this; Let me have all the praise, Who to thy steps did strength confer, And did this Building raise.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.

COme Daughter, born of Royal blood, The King of Heav'n thy Father is; He now awakes thee with a kiss: The day is come, so long withstood. Thou art to him so dear, Thou never needest fear. I see thy welcome feet are shod, With preparation from above: Thou that didst hate, begin'st to Love, A sweet returning to thy God. How welcome are thy goings? How welcome are thy doings? The buds that blossom from thy feet; The very Bones that turn and move; In th' hollow of thy Thighs I love: All these to me are rarely sweet. Jewels are not so rare, Nor can with them compare.

Pride not thy self, give God the Praise, That is the great Artificer, Did to thy steps this strength confer, And did this hopeful Building raise. To him thou ow'st thy birth, And more than thou art worth.

CANT. VII. 2.

Thy navel is like a round Goblet, which want∣eth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat, set about with lilies.

HYMN 114.

NOw I will tell the World the wonder: A barren Church grows fruitful; she From whom in many hundred years, I had no Children born to me. Her Navel like a fountain fill'd, Held Goblets of infused Grace: Her pregnant Belly breeds a stock; Like heaps of Wheat her number was. Nations are born at once; they flock To her as Doves to Windows get. This is a Harvest to the Lord, Exceeding what he ere had yet. When thousands could Conversion date, From some one Sermons powerful word:

This done in Sions infant-state, What will her manhood then afford? Go Gentiles, go, your case condole, A thousand Sermons, scarce one Soul. Thy Teachers fish, and nothing catch; They knock, but who lifts up the latch? But I'le unite you unto those, Shall 'crease your numbers as their own: They shall be drops where Water flows, Or grains in heaps of Wheat become.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.

NOw I will tell the World a wonder, The barren Church grows fruitful: she From whom for many hundred years, I had no Children born to me: But now she fertile grows; Her numbers no man knows. Nations are born at once: they flock To her, as Doves to windows get: Her Pregnant Belly bears a stock, For numbers like the grains of Wheat: And these like Lilies white, Are pure in my sight. This is a Harvest to the Lord; Beyond it self in Infant-state, When thousands could conversion date▪ From some one Sermons powerful word.

Tho since none such hath been; I'le make it so agen: You Gentiles go, your case condole: A thousand Sermons, scarce a Soul▪ Thy Teachers fish, and nothing catch: They knock, but none lifts up the Latch: I'le fertile mercies broach And take away Reproach. I will unite you unto those, Shall 'crease your numbers as their own: They shall like drops, where water flows, Or grains in heaps of Wheat become; A Joyful day to Sion: A Pillow soft to lye on.

CANT. VII. 3.

Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.

HYMN 115.

THy breasts fhall give their milk to Kings And Princes be nurs'd up by thee: Tyrants! there shall be no such things: By Thine shall Kingdoms ruled be. Thy Nobles shall the Scepters sway, The Crownsand Thronesshall all be theirs.

Those that will not thy feed obey, Shall rue the day in Blood and Tears: When I the Tyrants cause to cease This shall produce a world of peace: No more shall men for fearing God Tast the Red-Dragons smarting Rod: Salvation shall for Bulwarks stand, And Walls of Fire about thy place: And God at all times near at hand, Shall safe▪Protect thy blessed race. Thy Breasts shall nurse up Rulers; so Pastors according to my heart Shall be so well inspir'd and fit, That Souls they shall by shoals convert: And with this holy Seed thou shalt All under the broad Heavens fill: Thou shalt Jehovah's praise exalt, And live according to his will.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 125.

THy Breasts shall give their milk to Kings, And Princes be nurs'd up by thee: Tyrants! there shall be no such things: By thine shall Kingdoms ruled be. O what a bliss is this, The World at quiet is.

Thy Nobles shall thy Scepters sway, The Crowns and Thrones shall all be theirs; Those that will not thy Seed obey Shall rue the day in blood and tears. O what a bliss is this! The world at quiet is. When I the Tyrants cause to cease This shall produce a world of peace: No more shall men for serving God, Tast the Red-Dragons smarting Rod: O what a bliss is this! The world at quiet is. Thy Breasts shall nurse up Rulers: so Pastors according to my heart, Shall be so well inspir'd, and fit, That Souls they shall by Shoals Convert: O what a bliss is this! The world at quiet is. And with this holy Seed thou shalt, All under the broad Heavens fill, Thou shalt Jehovah's praise exalt, And live according to his will: O what a bliss is this? The world at quiet is.

CANT. VII. 4.

Thy Neck is as a Tower of Ivory.

HYMN 116.

THy Neck, O Sion, is a Tower Of whitest Ivory: No more to bear the pinching Yoak Of force and Tyranny. The Irons of Unscripture modes, And auk Imposed Forms, No more shall gall thy flesh, and Soul, I'le free thee from those storms. The Idols now betake themselves To Clifts of craggy Rocks. Thy God is risen: light is come: And spight's a Paradox. Arise and shine: O Sion dress thee: It is a pleasant day, And I thy God am come to bless thee: Send all thy fears away. O let thy Stately Neck bear up: Thy Head advance it higher; Now all thy Yoaks are burst and burnt, Put on thy best Attire. Admit my easie Yoak, and think Thy self a free-man there

Chain'd to my Laws, my Saints and me Thy Neck receives no scar:

CANT. VII. 4.

—Thine Eyes are like the fish-pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim:—

HYMN 117.

WAter thy Plants, Jerusalem: Salvation's at the door. Unseal thy latent Fountains: weep Till thou canst weep no more. Time was, when as of sence bereft Thou couldst not broach a tear, But now the hardned Rocks are cleft, And waters gushing there. Thine Eyes like Hesbons Fish-pools stand VVithin Beth-rabbins gate, That moistens the adjacent Land: And doth it fruitful make: I love to see that pierced heart, That pierced me and mine: The tears that wash my wounded feet, To me are drops of VVine. Thou'st wept enough: now weep no more, But go rejoycing on:

I'le banish all thy fears and cares, And bid them all be gone. Repentance breaks two hearts at once; The Sinners heart, and mine: Tho Sin be great, the Mercy-seat Shall cure that heart of thine.

CANT. VII. 4.

—Thy nose is as the tower of Labanon, which louketh toward Damascus.

HYMN 118.

O How I joy to see, Damascus brought to me: The persecuting Nations all, With Sion shall agree. To see fair Lebanon, Her stately Tower look, Towards her great foe Damascus, and In peace each other brook. Damascus, and the Mount, Shall reach their hands, and joyn; The Lion with the Lamb lye down, In this great day of thine. Thy Nose shall smell a sweet Perfume from Pagan Lands,

And breath a welcome Air, to greet Their reconciled bands. And would the Churches now, Their breaches seek to close: I'de hast and come, and quickly turn The heart of all their foes. Would Saints unite yet more, And all their fires cover: I'de make their Enemies yield themselves▪ And bring Damascus over.

CANT. VII. 5.

Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple—

HYMN 119.

THy head like Carmels crimson mount, Repleat with light, as that with flowers: Erects it self, and doth surmount Above all human earthly Powers. As Carmel did o're-top the Hills, And far transcend their excellence: The Glory of my Sion fills The World, and takes pre▪eminence. The mountain of the Lords great house, Above the tops of Mountains rose:

'Tis now fulfill'd: O Carmel rouse, Exalt thy self above thy foes. Lift up thy head Jerusalem, I've made thee Lord of all the Earth: Thy Scepter's in the hand of them That are men of Renown and Worth. And as thy hair upon thy head, In numerous Unites overspread: So shall thy Purple Judges fill With righteous Laws, the World half dead. For Muninment and Ornament, Hair is the Glory of the Head: So shall thy wholsome Edicts spread, And Justice be in Triumph led.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.

LIke Carmels crimson mount, Such is my Church to me: My Sion, I account Above all things that be: I will her praise Above the Moon, The Stars, the Sun, Her honour raise▪ Thy head doth raise its top, Above all humane Powers:

Their Boughs I'le have thee lop, And pull down all their Towers: And then shall we Rejoyce to see, Fair Carmel be, In high degree. The Mountain of the house Of God, shall top the hills: And Sion shall advance Her rod against their wills. Great Sion shall By force of Arms, And milder charms, O're top them all. Thy Purple Judges shall Like hair in Unites spread: Send forth such Laws that all The People shall be glad: Then shall they praise, And lively sing: For Sions King, Their Voices raise.

CANT. VII. 5.

—Thy king is held in the galleries.

HYMN 120.

AWake, O Sion: rise and shine, Put thy best Garment on: Tho all the World 'gainst thee combine, Thy King comes marching on. Lift up thine Eyes, behold those Clouds, Those lofty Galleries: There he Erects his Throne, and makes His Glory fill the Skies. There shalt thou look on him, whose heart Was pierced by thy sin, And thou shalt mourn to see those wounds, And yet rejoyce therein. There never was so great a day; Sion thy King doth come, And in these Galleries makes a stay, Till thy great Work be done. O rend the Heavens, Lord, and come Thou down for Sions cause: Deliver thine from Sin and Rome, And all her Popish Laws: And make thy People once agen, The great Hosannah sing,

And Spirit every sort of men, To Worship Sions King.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.

O Sion! rise and shine, Put thy best Garments on, Tho all the World combine; Thy King comes marching on: Behold those Clouds, His Person lies In Galleries, And there he shrouds. Now shalt thou on him look, Was peirced by thy Sin, When thee he once forsook, Cause thou forsookest him: Now shalt thou mourn, And yet rejoice, With Heart and Voice, Thy God is come. There never was a day, So welcome to the Saints, As when he comes away, To make up all their wants. O rend the Skies: O come away,

Make no delay, Poor Sion cries. Hosanna then we'l sing, And Hallelujah too▪ We'l Worshiship Sions King, We'l praise him all anew. In Heaven! so Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, In Earth below.

CANT. VII. 6.

How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!

HYMN 121.

I Don't repent my coming down; These Galleries are to me a Throne: I'le get me here a new renown: Into new Heavens I am come. Ye blessed Angels, gird your selves, To wait my royal motions thither: Your trumpets sound & shake the ground; Let you and I rejoice together. I'le see my new created Bride, I'le let out all my hearts delight,

I'le put down all her sinful Pride, And Pride my self in her blest sight. And, O! how fair, how pleasant are Those sweet delights I now shall take! New Earth, new Heavens, all things new, These shall new Loves in me create. Come then, beloved Sion, come, Be not afraid; no distance can Foment a jealousie: There's none Shall love thee more than God and Man. O, let thy thirsty craving heart, Imbibe and drink me fully down: My Graces shall their good impart, My merits give thee great renown.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 148.

I Come, and don't repent, Into another Throne: To Sion am I sent, To her I love alone: No labour lost, To come and see, Beloved she, My heart loves most. Ye blessed Angels come, And wait my Royal motions:

'Twill be your honour; come, 'I will give you new promotions. You Angels blow, Your trumpets sound, For I have found, A Heav'n below. How fair and pleasant are Those sweet delights I take? New Heav'ns! new Earth! and those New Loves in me create. Let me prefer, My long'd for Bride, And let me Pride My self in her. O, let thy thirsty heart, My Soul! imbibe him down, And never from him part: 'Tis his and thy renown. There's none that can, E're be so dear, Or come so near, As God and Man.

CANT. VII. 7.

This thy stature is like to a Palm-tree, and thy breasts to clusters of the Grapes.

HYMN 122.

SION, thou art a Palm, Under great pressures growing: Thy branches, the great Ensigns are Of Victory overflowing. The more the weights were hung On every tender Bough: The straighter, upright, every branch Doth towards Heaven grow. Ride on triumphantly, And make thy Charets fly: Thy Martial word is Victory; Ride on victoriously. The Branches of the Palm, Shall Crown thy glorious Head: Thou shalt enjoy a blessed calm, Thine Enemies all are fled. Thy well-grown Breasts are full, As clusters fill'd with Wine, To nourish all thy Children small, And make them all Divine.

Now Sion bless thy King, Whose conduct doth the work, And down shall all his En'mies bring, The Devil, Pope and Turk.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 147.

SION, thou art a Palm, Under great Pressures growing, Whose Branches, Ensigns are, Of Victory overflowing. Triumphantly, Thy Charet shall Ride over all Victoriously. The more their weights were hung On every tender Bough: The straighter, upright, thou Dost toward Heaven grow. Thy Martial-word Is Victory: Thy Foes shall fly Before thy Sword. The Branches of the Palm, Shall Crown thy glorious Head▪ Thou shalt enjoy a calm: Thine Enemies all are fled.

Then shalt thou say, To Sions King, I ow this thing, To get the day. Thy welcome Breasts are full, As clusters fill'd with Wine, To nourish great and small, And make them all Divine. Now march, O Sion, The Praises sing, Of thy great King, And Judah's Lion.

CANT. VII. 8.

I said, I will go up to the Palm-tree, I will take hold of the Boughs thereof: new also thy Breasts shall be as Clusters of the Vine, and the smell of thy nose like Apples.

HYMN 123.

IT is a pleasant sight to see, The Nations flocking in: As Doves unto the Windows flee, Repenting of their sin▪ I will take hold of thee, saith one▪ O let me be thy Brother!

Give me one Closter of thy Grapes, One Apple, saith another. Beat up thy Drums for Volunteers, Set up thy Standart, Sion! To bring the Kings, and all their Peers, To worship Judah's Lion. Thy Enemies now shall bow to thee, And suck thy Breasts their fill, And shall be satisfi'd to see Fair Sions raised Hill. O Isra'l, bud and blossom out, And fill the World with fruit: Let the Expence be what it will, Thy God will thee recruit. Thy smell is sweet to all that come, Their smell is sweet to thee: All Nostrils fill'd with sweet perfume! O blessed day to see.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 147.

NOW they begin to love, That hated thee before: The Kings and Pow'rs above, Cringing shall thee adore: O blessed sight! To see them flock, With all their stock, To Sions light.

Give me a Bough, saith one, O let me be thy Brother: Give me one Cluster more; One Apple, saith another. Beat up the Drums, Thy Noble Peers, Are Volunteers, Where Sion comes. Thine Enemies now shall bow, And suck thy Breasts their fill: And satisfied now, Shall see thy raised Hill: Then shall they sing, Halelujah, Halelujah, To Sions King. Blossom, O Israel, And fill the World with fruit: Come, what Expences will, I'le always thee recruit: Come sing this Song, The day is ours, Against the Powers That rag'd so long.

CANT. VII. 9.

And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine, for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep, to speak.

HYMN 124.

A Wake, O Sion! ope thy Mouth, Wide••s thou canst, for I will still it▪ Come and drink down my Spirit of Truth; Upon thy heart I'le largely spill it. I'le pour it out as sweetest Wine, As once of old I did at first: Brimful I'le fill that heart of thine, Come drink it down, and slake thy thirst. These liberal draughts shall make thee speak, And utter such transcendent matter, Into the Mouths of men asleep, That they shall wake, and they shall utter. Thy dead shall live, and those that lay Securely sleeping in their sin, Shall now awake, and weep away, The woful case that they were in. No more shall men complain their hearts, Like strait neckt Vessels take in little:

They cannot speak what Grace imparts, And for a great sum yield a little. Enlargements now shall speak the praise Of Sions King, where e're we come: And those that had not words to say, For Christ before, now praise him home.

Another to the Tune of Psal. 113.

AWake, O Sion! ope thy Mouth, Come and drink down my Spirit of Truth. Open thy Mouth wide as thou canst: Let it crave what it can, I'le fill it: My Holy Spirit, I'le largly spill it, And fully answer all thy wants. I'le pour my Spirit out like Wine; To th' brim, I'le fill that heart of thine, As once of old, I did at first: These liberal Draughts shall make theespeak, And pow'rfully thy Silence break: Come drink it down, and slake thy thirst. Now shalt thou my high Praises utter, And out with such transcendent matter, Into the Mouths of men asleep, That they shall wake. Thy dead shall live, And joyning with thee, Praises give To God and me; Thanksgivings keep.

No more shall men complain their hearts: Can't utter what free Grace imparts. Like strait neckt Vessels take in little: Enlargements shall be common now, And fill your Souls you know not how, And make you full that have been fickle.

CANT. VII. 10.

I am my beloveds, and his desire is towards me.

HYMN 125.

YOu glorious Angels, sound your Trumps, This is the Wedding▪day: King Jesus and his Saints agree, Loves to each other pay. Give me thy heart, saith he, my Son, And for that Heart of thine; Lest thou shouldst want a heart, I'le come, And freely give thee mine. Now view the Smiles that Crown the Face Of this exalted Bride▪ That now's about to take her place By her Beloveds side. Renowned Jesus! Art thou mine? Since 'tis thine own desire: To thee my self I now resign: My heart is all on fire,

With flames of Love, to thee my King; Thou mine, and I am thine: 'Tis Heav'n to me, thy Face to see; I'm thine, and thou art mine. May this days love more stable prove, Than Hills and Mountains strong; Let Jesus Christ the subject be, Of my Eternal Song.

CANT. VII. 11.

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the Fields: let us lodg in the Villages.

HYMN 126.

THE Marriage being agreed upon, Between the Bridegroom and the Bride▪ When will this blessed Jesus come, To tye the knot that must be ty'd? Wilt thou a publick Wedding make? Inviting all the World unto it? No, no! retirement we'l take; But Angels, none shall see us do it. There are such persons, and such places, From the Worlds eye obscurely hid, And there will we exchange Embraces, There, there will we be Married.

'Tis secret Paths, and private Walks, Known to none else but thee and me: 'Tis Closet-breathings, unheard talks▪ That knits the knot 'tween me and thee. I would not sell my secret Pray'rs For more than thousand pounds a year: I would not lose my stolen tears, For all the VVorlds rich treasure there. VVhen I lockt up from the VVorlds eye, Am all alone in Meditation: Be sure my Christ is standing by, And most at large in Revelation.

CANT. VII. 12.

Let us get up early to the Vineyards, let us see if the Vine flourish, whether the tender Grapes appear, and the Promegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my loves.

HYMN. 127.

THE Vines and tender Grapes, And the Pomegranate buds: The new-born off-spring, that are weak, But shortly will be studs, In sight of these, my dear, I'le shew my love to thee:

As Children draw the Husbands love, Thus mine is drawn from me. Come see, and be the Bride Of this most glorious Groom, And lay your matters all aside, And to the Wedding come. You new converted are As much concern'd as I: Flourish and dress your selves, prepare, The Bridegroom draweth nigh. Take us, for we are thine, And are our own no longer: We wish our selves were more Divine, We wish our Love's were stronger. Thine only Will we be, And thine Eternally: O Rule, and Teach, and Govern us, As well as save, pray I.

CANT. VII. 13.

The Mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.

HYMN 128.

O What a joyful Spring is this! The Mandrakes give their smell: That lay all Winter buried in The Earth, as in their cell. Sion was dead, but is alive; The sweet perfumes of Grace Begin to bless the World, and yield Their sents in every place. The Converts, both the new and old, Are full of pleasant Fruit: And all laid up for thee, my Love, To correspond thy suit. Thus do the streams their tribute pay To Seas from whence they spring: Now shall both Males and Females say, Our Fruit to thee we bring. How rich is Sions King that day, When all his Saints shall woo him,

And bring their Treasures, and shall pay Themselves attribute to him? What joy, when but a single Soul Is Married unto Jesus! But O, what Joy, when Nations shall! O, how that sight will please us!