Christ the King at his table. <br /> <br />SS 1:2-5,12,13,17. <br /> <br />Let him embrace my soul, and prove <br />Mine interest in his heav'nly love; <br />The voice that tells me, "Thou art mine," <br />Exceeds the blessings of the vine. <br /> <br />On thee th' anointing Spirit came, <br />And spreads the savor of thy name; <br />That oil of gladness and of grace <br />Draws virgin souls to meet thy face. <br /> <br />Jesus, allure me by thy charms, <br />My soul shall fly into thine arms! <br />Our wand'ring feet thy favors bring <br />To the fair chambers of the King. <br /> <br />[Wonder and pleasure tune our voice <br />To speak thy praises and our joys; <br />Our memory keeps this love of thine <br />Beyond the taste of richest wine.] <br /> <br />Though in ourselves deformed we are, <br />And black as Kedar's tents appear, <br />Yet, when we put thy beauties on, <br />Fair as the courts of Solomon. <br /> <br />[While at his table sits the King, <br />He loves to see us smile and sing; <br />Our graces are our best perfume, <br />And breathe like spikenard round the room.] <br /> <br />As myrrh new bleeding from the tree, <br />Such is a dying Christ to ine <br />And while he makes my soul his guest, <br />My bosom, Lord, shall be thy rest. <br /> <br />[No beams of cedar or of fir <br />Can with thy courts on earth compare; <br />And here we wait, until thy love <br />Raise us to nobler seats above.]<br /><br />Isaac Watts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymn-66/
