The Church the Garden of Christ. Song 4. 12-15; 5. 1

I. Watts          L.M.

We are a garden walled around,
Chosen and made peculiar ground;
A little spot enclosed by grace,
Out of the world’s wide wilderness.

Like trees of myrrh and spice we stand,
Planted by God the Father’s hand;
And all his springs in Zion flow
To make the young plantation grow.

Awake, O heavenly wind, and come,
Blow on this garden of perfume;
Spirit divine, descend and breathe
A gracious gale on plants beneath.

Make our best spices flow abroad,
To entertain our Saviour, God;
And faith, and love, and joy appear,
And every grace be active here.

[Let my Beloved come and taste
His pleasant fruits at his own feast.
“I come, my spouse, I come,” he cries,
With love and pleasure in his eyes.]

[Our Lord into his garden comes,
Well pleased to smell our poor perfumes;
And calls us to a feast divine,
Sweeter than honey, milk, or wine:

“Eat of the tree of life, my friends;
The blessings that my Father sends;
Your taste shall all my dainties prove,
And drink abundance of my love.”]

[Jesus, we will frequent thy board,
And sing the bounties of our Lord;
But the rich food on which we live
Demands more praise than tongue can give.]


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