I slept and my heart waked: the voice of my beloved knocks at the door; Open to me, my sister, my friend, my dove, my perfect one: my head was filled with dew, my locks with the drops of the night
I was seeing even till thrones were cast down, and the Ancient of days sat, his garment white as snow, and the hair of his head as pure wool: his throne a flame of fire, his wheels a burning fire.