Thy people offer themselves willingly in the day of thy power: In the beauties of holiness, from the womb of the morning, Thou hast the dew of thy youth.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, So is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, And his fruit was sweet to my taste.
I was asleep, but my heart waked: 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, My locks with the drops of the night.