O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for sweet is your voice, and your countenance is lovely.
I sleep, but my heart wakes: it is the voice of my beloved that knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.
And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on: Yea, says the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.