The wond'ring world inquires to know

Why I should love my Jesus so:

What are his charms," say they, "above

The objects of a mortal love?"

Yes! my Beloved, to my sight

Shows a sweet mixture, red and white:

All human beauties, all divine,

In my Beloved meet and shine.

White is his soul, from blemish free;

Red with the blood he shed for me;

The fairest of ten thousand fairs;

A sun amongst ten thousand stars.

[His head the finest gold excels;

There wisdom in perfection dwells,

And glory like a crown adorns

Those temples once beset with thorns.

Compassions in his heart are found,

Hard by the signals of his wound:

His sacred side no more shall bear

The cruel scourge, the piercing spear.]

[His hands are fairer to behold

Than diamonds set in rings of gold;

Those heav'nly hands, that on the tree

Were nailed, and torn, and bled for me!

Though once he bowed his feeble knees,

Loaded with sins and agonies,

Now on the throne of his command

His legs like marble pillars stand.]

[His eyes are majesty and love,

The eagle tempered with the dove;

No more shall trickling sorrows roll

Through those dear windows of his soul.

His mouth, that poured out long complaints,

Now smiles and cheers his fainting saints

His countenance more graceful is

Than Lebanon with all its trees.]

All over glorious is my Lord

Must be beloved, and yet adored;

His worth if all the nations knew,

Sure the whole earth would love him too.