His left hand Should be under my head; He supports me He reasons with me By the Spirit He made to dwell in me. And his right hand Should embrace me; He loved me He gave his Son for me, And he cares for every need.
I would lead thee, To my hidden place And bring thee into my mother’s house, The bride’s dwelling. Who would instruct me In your ways. I would cause thee to drink Her special mixtures; Of spiced wine Renewing the soul, and Of the juice of my pomegranate The offering of my labors.
O that thou wert as my brother, My dear joint-heir, That sucked the breasts of my mother! The church triumphant, victorious. When I should find thee without, Looking to and fro for the perfect I would kiss thee; yea, I would bow before your glory; I should not be despised.
The mandrakes give a smell, The scent of faithfulness. And at our gates are A myriad of witnesses. They bring with them All manner of pleasant fruits, New and old, The produce of faithful men Which I have laid up for thee. O my beloved, teach me according to their kind words.