The voice of my Beloved sounds
Over the rocks and rising grounds;
O'er hills of guilt and seas of grief
He leaps, he flies to my relief.
Now through the veil of flesh I see
With eyes of love he looks at me;
Now in the gospel's clearest glass
He shows the beauties of his face.
Gently he draws my heart along,
Both with his beauties and his tongue;
"Rise," saith my Lord, "make haste away,
No mortal joys are worth thy stay.
"The Jewish wintry state is gone,
The mists are fled, the spring comes on;
The sacred turtle-dove we hear
Proclaim the new, the joyful year.
"Th' immortal vine of heav'nly root
Blossoms, and buds, and gives her fruit:"
Lo! we are come to taste the wine;
Our souls rejoice, and bless the vine.
And when we hear our Jesus say,
"Rise up, my love, make haste away!"
Our hearts would fain outfly the wind,
And leave all earthly loves behind.