Incarnate Love's perfumed wings
Now cleave the shady air.

He over hills and mountains high
Comes flying on the clouds,
In stately pomp advancing nigh,
Through all opposing crowds.

Of principalities and pow'rs
He makes an open show;

Down, in his march, he throws the tow'rs
Of hell's outrageous crew.

He skips o'er rocks without delay,
Nor tarries he to climb;

For hills and mountains in the way
Are but a leap to him.

O'er heaps of sin to run he deigns;
O'er hills of guilt to flee;

Nor death, nor hell, nor wrath restrains
His loving march to me.

Verse 9.-My Beloved is like a roe, or a young hart:

When faith itself can hardly see
What pow'r could ever pave
The rocky mountains whereon he
Must come to seek and save;

When manifold obstructions met,
My loving Jesus made

A stepping-stone of ev'ry let

That in his way was laid.

O'er hills of sin and vales of grief,
O'er mountains, rocks, and seas,
salvation and relief

For my

He runs, he leaps, he flies.

O'er every Bether, high and low,
That him and me did part,
He marches like the bounding roe,
Or loving youthful hart.

To manifest that his delights
Were with the sons of men,

He hastens to restore their rights,
And rifle Satan's den.

No doubt remains of his good-will,

Whose speedy march does prove
His joyful fondness to fulfil

His purposes of love.

THE SONG OF SOLOMON.

When heinous trespasses of mine,
Make me conclude that he
Will never any more incline
Again to visit me ;

And yet I see him hastening near,

And smiling in my face;

How can I but adore, admire,

And magnify his grace!

Behold, he standeth behind our wall; he looketh forth' at the windows, shewing himself through the lattess.

Come, friends, admire how he renews

The visits of his grace,

And in what various forms he shows,
The beauties of his face.

His darkest ways will prove him kind;
For, when he hides at all,

He goes not far, but stands behind
Our own partition-wall.

Though we, alas! do build up high

The hiding wall of sin :
Yet he behind it, very nigh,
Stands ready to come in.

His feet no rest can elsewhere take,
But skipping, leaping, move,
Till me the resting-place he make,
And centre of his love.

And though, while in this distant place,
This vale of sin and thrall,

There's still between me and his face

A thick, a darkening wall;

Yet distance alters not his love,

Nor ought abates his care,

Which force him through the wall to move,

And make a window there :

That there, as through a window-glass

However dark and dim,

His eyes of love to me may pass,
Mine eye of faith to him.

Through lattesses that light divide,
Through glorious gospel-lines,
A vail of flesh, a pierced side
His love, his beauty shines.

(1) Or, rather, looketh in.

(2) Heb. Flourishing.

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A PARAPHRASE ON

Thus, like a beauteous flow'r in spring,
He shews himself in state,
Before the window flourishing

And growing through the grate.

Verse 10.-My beloved spake, and said unto me; Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.1

When my beloved Jesus nigh

Did to my soul appear,

His matchless beauty charm'd mine eye,

His gracious words mine ear.

Why, though the sweetest favours giv'n
Are in his felt embrace;

Yet surest intercourse with heav'n

Is by his word of grace.

I'll therefore sing the words he said,
And his alluring art,

Who me no silent visit made,

But spake unto my heart.

The joyful sound my soul restor'd,
And heal'd to that degree,
I never will forget his word

By which he quick'ned me.

"Rise up, said he, my pleasant bride,
And leave what thee annoys;
Lay killing fears and damps aside,
And share my quick'ning joys.

"My love! there is no spot in thee
But what my grace shall hide;
Thou art, and evermore shalt be
My fair and comely bride.

"And since thou'rt mine by solemn tie,

And I'm so fond of thee,

It ill becomes thee to be shy
And carry strange to me.

"Are mortal pleasures worth thy stay?

Fly from their dying arms;

Haste to my bosom, come away,

And share immortal charms.

Verse 11.-For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.

"Come love, said he, for now thy way

Is pleasant, safe, and plain :

(1) See Verse 13.

THE SONG OF SOLOMON.

Behold a fair, inviting day,

And heav'n above serene.

"Fear not the storm; for, ere I gave
The gracious call to thee,

Fair weather I commanded have,
And calm'd the raging sea.

"Thou hast no dang'rous winter-flight,
No drop of wrath to dread;
The storm did with a vengeance light
Down on thy Surety's head.

"So full did I my charge perform
Once in thy room and place,
That now no killing wrathful storm
Can blow upon thy face.

"Tempestuous wrath and death is past,
Stern justice is appeas'd;
Since I courageous bore the blast,
All heav'n is fully pleas'd.

"I call thee not to fight and bleed,
But, free of pain and toil,
To follow thy victorious Head,
And gather in the spoil.

"Yea, winter of desertions past,

And rain of trouble o'er,

While by my presence now thou hast

An antepast of glore.

Verse 12.-The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing2 of birds is come

"Come, come; for now beloved bride,
By warming beams of grace,

The youthful spring with flow'ry pride
Looks smiling in thy face.

"See lapsed nature's cursed earth,
Nipt with a winter-fall,

Now blest with buds of heav'nly birth
And flow'rs around the ball.

"See Adam's dry and blasted root,

Where briers and thorns were rife,

Now bud and bear unfading fruit
Unto immortal life.

"Lo! heav'n appears upon the ground
Where hell grew up apace;

(1) Or, foretaste.

(2) Heb. The time of singing is come.

The word rendered singing, signifies also to prune, or crop.

While earthly hearts do now abound
With heav'nly flowers of grace.

"The fading trees of righteousness,
Resumes their fruitful life,
While I the branches lop and dress,
And bless the pruning knife.

"The present time of peaceful spring

From wintry blusters free,
Invite the heav'nly birds to sing
Upon the living tree.

-And the voice of the turtle' is heard in our land.
"Lo! now is heard the heav'nly Dove,
The sacred Turtle's voice;
The joyful sound of grace and love
Makes drooping hearts rejcice.

"Resounding echoes through the plain

From all my little doves,

That in the valleys mourn amain,

Melodious music proves.

"Their hearts that could nor joy nor mourn,

So close bound up and pent,

Have now upon the Lord's return,

A joyful, mournful vent.

"As loving friends, long distant, do
Most joyful meet their wish,
Whose sorrows during absence, now
Dissolving, bleed afresh :

"So wrestling tribes, in cheerful moans,
Their Lord approaching wait,

With joyful hearts, yet mournful tones,
As turtles meet their mate:

"Sweet sounds, alluring all that list,
Are heard on every hand,

Around the field that I have blest,
And styl'd Immanuel's land.

Ver. 13.-The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vine with the tender grape give a good smell.

"Now, now, is the accepted time,
When heav'nly plants of grace
All pressing forward to their prime,
And thriving, grow apace.

(1) By the turtle some understand the Spirit, some the bride.