Make haste, and come quickly. My beloved, is mine and I am his; And be thou like to a roe, Stealthy and swift. Or to a young hart, Hunted by the archers. Upon the mountains of spices In a borrowed tomb.
Thou that dwellest In the pavilion surrounded by dark waters; In the gardens, In the secret place, hide me. The companions hearken Just like your sheep To thy voice. Cause me to hear it, O Door of the Sheepfold, Allow me to enter in
My vineyard, singular. Which is mine; Not much there. Is before me: weak and poor. Thou, O Solomon, must have a thousand, I can only give a few. And those that keep the fruit thereof They come for their wages, Two hundred pennies a day. I can’t pay even that much.
Solomon had a vineyard at Baal–hamon; And hedged it round about, And digged a winepress in it, And built a tower, He let out the vineyard unto keepers; And went into a far country: And when the time of the fruit drew near, He sent his servants to the husbandmen, That they might receive theContinue reading “Song 8:11 |Pieces”