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Poem	The church the garden of Christ. SS 4:12-15; 5:1. 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, heav'nly 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 Savior 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 tongues can give.]
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