To the Lord we're as a garden,
  Out from which the spices flow;
All the precious fruits of Jesus
  Freely in this garden grow.
    Spikenard, saffron, henna flower,
    Cinnamon and calamus,
    Frankincense and myrrh and aloes;
    O Lord, we would ever grow Thee thus.

O Lord, come into Thy garden,
  Come, Beloved, come and eat
Freely for Thy satisfaction
  Of Thy fruit, abundant, sweet.
    "Yea," Thou answerest, "I am eating
    Honeycomb with honey pure."
    All sweet spices from Thy garden,
    Doth Thy satisfaction, Lord, secure.

All the produce of the garden
  Is with resurrection filled
That the Lord may have a city,
  Fruits of resurrection build.
    From the garden to the city,
    Growth transformed to precious stone;
    Christ is thus expressed, reflected—
    God in all His glory fully shown.

Now the city, fair and comely,
  As the dawn, triumphantly,
Is an army strong and mighty
  Marching forth in victory.
    Lo, the city and the army—
    Saints transformed in one accord.
    What a terror to the devil,
    And so beautiful unto the Lord!