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

3 Jesus, allure me by thy charms,
My soul shall fly into thine arms,
Our wandering feet thy favours bring
To the fair chambers of the King.

4 [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.]

5 Tho' in ourselves deform'd we are,
And black as Kedar tent appear,
Yet when we put thy beauties on,
Fair as the courts of Solomon.

6 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.]

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