Isaac Watts · 432 of 724

Hymn 74

We are a garden walled around, Chosen and made peculiar ground; A little spot enclosed by grace Out of the world's wide wilderness.

Like trees of myrrh and spice we stand, Planted by God the Father's hand; And all his springs in Zion flow, To make the young plantation grow.

Awake, O, heav'nly wind! and come, Blow on this garden of perfume; Spirit divine! descend and breathe A gracious gale on plants beneath.

Make our best spices flow abroad, To entertain our Savior God And faith, and love, and joy appear, And every grace be active here.

[Let my Beloved come and taste His pleasant fruits at his own feast: "I come, my spouse, I come!" he cries, With love and pleasure in his eyes.

Our Lord into his garden comes, Well pleased to smell our poor perfumes, And calls us to a feast divine, Sweeter than honey, milk, or wine.

"Eat of the tree of life, my friends, The blessings that my Father sends; Your taste shall all my dainties prove, And drink abundance of my love:"

Jesus, we will frequent thy board, And sing the bounties of our Lord; But the rich food on which we live Demands more praise than tongues can give.]