O God, give your judgment to the king; your justice to the king’s son; That he may govern your people with justice, your oppressed with right judgment,
My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret recesses of the cliff, Let me see your face, let me hear your voice, For your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.”
M, How beautiful you are, my friend, how beautiful you are! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats streaming down Mount Gilead.
One alone is my dove, my perfect one, her mother’s special one, favorite of the one who bore her. Daughters see her and call her happy, queens and concubines, and they praise her: