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.]