"My Beloved"
(Cant. 5:9.)
Oh what is thy Beloved?--they oft inquire of me; And what in my Beloved so passing fair I see. Is it the heavenly splendor in which He shines above-- His riches and dominions, that won my heart's best love?
Oh no! 'tis not His glories;--He's worthy of them all. 'Tis not the throne and sceptre, before which angels fall! I view with heart exulting each crown His head adorns; But, oh, He looks most lovely, _wearing His crown of thorns_.
I'm glad to see His raiment, than snow more spotless white, Refulgent with its brightness, more dazzling than the light; But more surpassing lovely His form appears to me, When stripp'd, and scourged, and bleeding, _He hung upon the tree_.
With warmest adoration I see Him on the throne, And join the loud hosannas that His high virtues own; But, oh, most blessed Jesus, I must confess to Thee, More than the throne of glory _I love that sacred tree_.
I joy to see the diadems upon Thy royal brow, The state, and power, and majesty in which Thou sittest now; But 'tis _Thyself_, Lord Jesus, makes heaven seem heaven to me-- _Thyself_, as first I knew Thee, _uplifted on the tree_.
Though higher than the highest, most mighty King Thou art, Thy grace, and not Thy greatness, first touched my rebel heart. Thy sword, it might have slain me; Thine arrows drunk my blood; But 'twas _Thy cross_ subdued me, and won my heart to God.
Thy sceptre rules creation; Thy _wounded hand_ rules me: All bow before Thy footstool; I but the _nail-prints_ see. Aloud they sound Thy titles, Thou Lord of lords most high; One thrilling thought absorbs me--_this Lord for me did die_.
Oh, this is my Beloved! there's none so fair as He: The chief among ten thousand, He's all in all to me. My heart, it breaks with longing to dwell with Him above, Who wooed me first, and won me _by His sweet dying love_.