And also He moved thee from a strait place, `To' a broad place -- no straitness under it, And the sitting beyond of thy table Hath been full of fatness.
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.'
Arise, cry aloud in the night, At the beginning of the watches. Pour out as water thy heart, Over against the face of the Lord, Lift up unto Him thy hands, for the soul of thine infants, Who are feeble with hunger at the head of all out-places.