I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! `Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with drops of the night.'
and it hath been, in the morning, about the rising of the sun, thou dost rise early, and hast pushed against the city; and lo, he and the people who are with him are going out unto thee--and thou hast done to him as thy hand doth find.'