Within the Song of Songs;
He shows by types His seeking ones,
The Bride for whom Christ longs!
A love, so swift and strong!
But this is love that’s natural—
It pulls the world along!
With dove’s eyes she can see
That naught can with her love compare—
There’s none so dear as He!
(For still the Lord draws on),
Her faith is not in earthly toil,
But in the wondrous Son.
Within the cloven rock;
Now in her Lord’s ascended life
Is love which knows no shock!
And now, as wand’ring ends,
Her wills to His will are subdued,
What fragrance sweet ascends!
E’en midst the fearsome night . . .
She now affords her Lord such rest,
The foe is put to flight!
(This type is full of worth.)
A palanquin He’s made Himself
For His move on the earth!
Christ’s ris’n humanity.
Its silver pillars for support
And floor of gold we see!
Christ is of kings the King.
To Him, as fittings for within,
Their love His dear ones bring!
And glad will be Thy heart—
What boast and glory to Thyself;
Thy crown, Thy counterpart!
With spices, fragrant, sweet.
She now brings forth materials
The building to complete!
No greater building, this!
So beautiful, yet to the foe
A conq’ring army ’tis!
The transformation’s done,
Until at last, the work’s complete—
Christ and His Bride are one!