Her Backed Bower
WHERE she her sacred bower adornsThe rivers clearly flow,The groves and meadows swell with flowers,The winds all gently blow.Her sun-like beauty shines so fair,Her spring can never fade.Who then can blame the life that strivesTo harbour in her shade?
Her grace I sought, her love I wooed;Her love though I obtain,No time, no toil, no vow, no faithHer wished grace can gain.Yet truth can tell my heart is hersAnd her will I adore;And from that love when I departLet heaven view me no more!
Her roses with my prayers shall spring;And when her trees I praise,Their boughs shall blossom, mellow fruitShall straw her pleasant ways.The words of hearty zeal have powerHigh wonders to effect;O, why should then her princely earMy words or zeal neglect?
If she my faith misdeems, or worth,Woe worth my hapless fate!For though time can my truth reveal,That time will come too late.And who can glory in the worthThat cannot yield him grace?Content in everything is not,Nor joy in every place.
But from her Bower of Joy since IMust now excluded be,And she will not relieve my cares,Which none can help but she;My comfort in her love shall dwell,Her love lodge in my breast,And though not in her bower, yet IShall in her temple rest.