A satiated soul treadeth down a honeycomb, And `to' a hungry soul every bitter thing `is' sweet.
My soul is refusing to touch! They `are' as my sickening food.
Eat my son, honey that `is' good, And the honeycomb -- sweet to thy palate.
Faithful are the wounds of a lover, And abundant the kisses of an enemy.
As a bird wandering from her nest, So `is' a man wandering from his place.
and the people speak against God, and against Moses, `Why hast thou brought us up out of Egypt to die in a wilderness? for there is no bread, and there is no water, and our soul hath been weary of this light bread.'
`There is one little lad here who hath five barley loaves, and two fishes, but these -- what are they to so many?'