Arise, cry out in the night: In the beginning of the watches Pour out thine heart like water Before the face of the Lord: Lift up thy hands toward him for the life Of thy young children, That faint for hunger In the top of every street.
I sleep, but my heart waketh: It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, My dove, my undefiled: For my head is filled with dew, And my locks with the drops of the night.
Even so would he have removed thee out of the strait Into a broad place, where there is no straitness; And that which should be set on thy table should be full of fatness.