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We are a Garden wall'd around, Chosen and made peculiar Ground; A little Spot inclos'd 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 Sion 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 pleas'd 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 Tongues can give.

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