---

Isaac Watts - Hymn 66
Work rating: Low

Christ the King at his table.

SS 1:2-5,12,13,17. 

Let him embrace my soul, and prove
Mine interest in his heav`nly love;
The voice that tells me, "Thou art mine,"
Exceeds the blessings of the vine.

On thee th` anointing Spirit came,
And spreads the savor of thy name;
That oil of gladness and of grace
Draws virgin souls to meet thy face.

Jesus, allure me by thy charms,
My soul shall fly into thine arms!
Our wand`ring feet thy favors bring
To the fair chambers of the King.

[Wonder and pleasure tune our voice
To speak thy praises and our joys;
Our memory keeps this love of thine
Beyond the taste of richest wine.]

Though in ourselves deformed we are,
And black as Kedar`s tents appear,
Yet, when we put thy beauties on,
Fair as the courts of Solomon.

[While at his table sits the King,
He loves to see us smile and sing;
Our graces are our best perfume,
And breathe like spikenard round the room.]

As myrrh new bleeding from the tree,
Such is a dying Christ to ine
And while he makes my soul his guest,
My bosom, Lord, shall be thy rest.

[No beams of cedar or of fir
Can with thy courts on earth compare;
And here we wait, until thy love
Raise us to nobler seats above.]
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.