O, Musgrove, he persuaded me,
Persuaded me for to agree,
Persuading me, he thus did say,
Let’s join and do some forgery.
O, now in jail, where I do lay,
In heavy irons, cold as clay,
I soon the day shall shortly see,
That’ll land my soul in eternity.
A. We are a garden wall’d around,
Chosen and made peculiar ground,
A little spot, enclos’d by grace,
Out of the world’s wide wilderness.
B. Like trees of myrrh and spice we stand,
Planted by God the Father’s hand;
And all his springs in Zion flow,
To make the young plantation grow.