Classic Poem

CHRIST'S WORDS .

I'm come, my spouse and sister dear;
I'm to my garden come;
I've gathered up my spice and myrrh,
And eat my honey-comb:

My feast of honey, milk, and wine,
With pleasure shar'd have I:
Come eat and drink, O friends of mine,
Yea, drink abundantly.

THE CHURCH'S WORDS .

I sleep, but yet my heart's awake;
A kindly knock I hear:
'Tis my Beloved's voice thus spake,
" Open to me, my dear.

" Open, my dove, my undefil'd;
Love, give not love the slight:
My head's bedew'd, my locks are fill'd
With drops of winter night. "

Base sloth reply'd, " I'm now undress'd;
How shall I dress again?
How shall I leave this bed of rest,
My new wash'd feet to stain? "

My Lord then by the shut-door's hole
Put in his hand of pow'r;
Which with lov'd wounds so pierc'd my soul,
My bowels melted sore.

When up to ope I did me stir,
In answer to his knock:
My hands and fingers dropp'd sweet myrrh,
On handles of the lock.

I open'd then to my Belov'd,
But, he, alas! was gone:
His late love-suits my mind so mov'd,
I fainted as undone:

I sought him whom my soul ador'd,
But him I could not have:
I call'd and cry'd, My, Love, my Lord;
But he no answer gave.

The cruel city watch me found,
And keepers of the wall;
Who did me rudely smite and wound,
And took away my vail.

O Salem's race, of better mind,
To wail my Lord's remove,
I charge you tell, if him you find,
That I am sick of love.

THE COMPANION'S WORDS .

O fairest, what Belov'd is thine?
In what pray let us know,
Doth he all other loves out-shine,
That thou dost charge us so!

THE CHURCH'S WORDS .

O my Belov'd, could you him see,
Both white and red appears;
Among ten thousand chieftains he
The signal standard bears.

His head's of finest gold t' attract,
So bright and firm his sway;
His locks are curl'd, and raven black,
So fresh without decay.

His dove-like eyes most bright appear,
Like these the brooks have wet;
Or milky streams have washed clear,
Fit for inspection set.

His cheeks are like a spicy bed,
Where choice perfumes do meet;
His lily lips drop grace, and shade
The myrrh that smells so sweet.

His rings of gold with beryl set,
His hands, his works, appear
His bowels kind, like iv'ry bright,
O'erlaid with sapphires clear.

His legs like marble-pillars are,
On golden sockets set:
His face like Lebanon most fair,
Like cedars most complete.

Most sweet is that bless'd mouth of his,
Whence grace and truth may flow;
Yea, he himself most lovely is,
And altogether so.

O Salem's daughters this is he
Of whom ye sought my mind:
This is the best Belov'd to me:
This is my dearest friend.