They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for lack of shelter.
They lodge the naked without clothing, and give no covering in the cold.
They pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take a pledge from the poor.
I sleep, but my heart is awake. 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.
Those who ate delicacies are desolate in the streets; those reared in scarlet embrace dunghills.
The world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains and dens and caves of the earth.