I Am come to lock all fast,

Love without me cannot last:

Love, like counsels of the Wise,

Must be hid from vulgar Eyes;

'Tis holy, 'tis holy, and we must, we must conceal it,

They prophane it, they prophane it, who reveal it,

They prophane it, they profane it, who reveal it.

A New Song, Set to the FLUTE.