My dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secrecy of the steep place, let Me see your form. Let Me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your form is beautiful.
I sleep, but my heart is waking. It is the sound of my Beloved that knocks, saying, Open to Me, My sister, My love, My dove, My undefiled. For My head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.
And I heard a voice out of Heaven saying to me, Write: Blessed are the dead ones, the ones dying in the Lord from now. Yes, says the Spirit, they shall rest from their labors, and their works follow with them.