I sleep, but my heart is awake. A sound! My love is knocking! Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one. For my head is drenched with dew, my hair with droplets of the night.
For the vision is yet for the appointed time; it testifies about the end and will not lie. Though it delays, wait for it, since it will certainly come and not be late.
But if that slave says in his heart, ‘My master is delaying his coming,’ and starts to beat the male and female slaves, and to eat and drink and get drunk,