"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.
J. G. Deck