19. Meditation. Can. 1.12. While the King sits at
his Table, my Spicknard sends forth the Smell thereof.
Westfield 7.10m [Dec.] 1696.
Lord dub my tongue with a new tier of Words
More comprehensive far than my dull Speech
That I may dress thy Excellency Lord
In Languague welted with Emphatick reech.
Thou art my King: my Heart thy Table make
And sit thereat untill my Spicknard wake.
My Garden Knot drawn out most curiously
By thy brave hand set with the bravest Slips
Of Spicknard: Lavender that thence may fly
Their Wealthy Spirits from their trunks and tips.
That Spicknard Oyle, and Oyle of Spike most sweet
May muskify thy Palace with their Reeke.
Then sit at thy round Table with delight
And feast in mee, untill my Spicknard bloome,
And Crown thy head with Odour-Oyle rich bright
And croud thy Chamber with her sweet perfume.
The Spicknard in my knot then flourish will:
And frindge thy Locks with odour it doth still.
And when thou at thy Circuite Table sitst
Thine Ordinances, Lord, to greet poor hearts
Such Influences from thyselfe thou slipst
And make their Spicknard its sweet Smell impart.
So make my Lavender to spring, and sent.
In such attire her Spirits ever tent.
And as thou at thy Table sitst to feast
Thy Guests there at, Thy Supper, Lord, well drest,
Let my sweet Spicknard breath most sweet, at least
Those Odours that advance thy Glory best.
And make my heart thine Alabaster Box
Of my Rich Spicknard to perfume thy locks.
If this thou grant, (and grant thou this I pray)
And sit my King at thy rich table thus,
Then my Choice Spicknard shall its Smell display,
That sweetens mee and on thee sweet doth rush.
My Songs of Praise too sweeten'd with this fume
Shall scale thine Eares in Spicknardisick Tune.
