Song of Songs 8:9
If she is a wall, we build by her a palace of silver. And if she is a door, We fashion by her board-work of cedar.
If she is a wall, we build by her a palace of silver. And if she is a door, We fashion by her board-work of cedar.
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6Set me as a seal on thy heart, as a seal on thine arm, For strong as death is love, Sharp as Sheol is jealousy, Its burnings `are' burnings of fire, a flame of Jah!
7Many waters are not able to quench the love, And floods do not wash it away. If one give all the wealth of his house for love, Treading down -- they tread upon it.
8We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?
10I `am' a wall, and my breasts as towers, Then I have been in his eyes as one finding peace.
12A garden shut up `is' my sister-spouse, A spring shut up -- a fountain sealed.
11Garlands of gold we do make for thee, With studs of silver!
17The beams of our houses `are' cedars, Our rafters `are' firs, I `am' a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys!
10Its pillars he made of silver, Its bottom of gold, its seat of purple, Its midst lined `with' love, By the daughters of Jerusalem.
1Wisdom hath builded her house, She hath hewn out her pillars -- seven.
8Exalt her, and she doth lift thee up, She honoureth thee, when thou dost embrace her.
9She giveth to thy head a wreath of grace, A crown of beauty she doth give thee freely.
4As the tower of David `is' thy neck, built for an armoury, The chief of the shields are hung on it, All shields of the mighty.
5Thy two breasts `are' as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.
6Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, And unto the hill of frankincense.
1Who doth make thee as a brother to me, Sucking the breasts of my mother? I find thee without, I kiss thee, Yea, they do not despise me,
2I lead thee, I bring thee in unto my mother's house, She doth teach me, I cause thee to drink of the perfumed wine, Of the juice of my pomegranate,
3His left hand `is' under my head, And his right doth embrace me.
9One is my dove, my perfect one, One she `is' of her mother, The choice one she `is' of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.
10`Who `is' this that is looking forth as morning, Fair as the moon -- clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?'
9Thou hast emboldened me, my sister-spouse, Emboldened me with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.
9My beloved `is' like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.
19A hind of loves, and a roe of grace! Let her loves satisfy thee at all times, In her love magnify thyself continually.
6Therefore, lo, I am hedging up thy way with thorns, And I have made for her a wall, And her paths she doth not find.
4Thy neck as a tower of the ivory, Thine eyes pools in Heshbon, near the gate of Bath-Rabbim, Thy face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus,
8If thou knowest not, O fair among women, Get thee forth by the traces of the flock, And feed thy kids by the shepherds' dwellings!
14And she hath sat at the opening of her house, On a throne -- the high places of the city,
15Precious she `is' above rubies, And all thy pleasures are not comparable to her.
8Keep far from off her thy way, And come not near unto the opening of her house,
8Passing on in the street, near her corner, And the way `to' her house he doth step,
31Give ye to her of the fruit of her hands, And her works do praise her in the gates!
17Her ways `are' ways of pleasantness, And all her paths `are' peace.
18A tree of life she `is' to those laying hold on her, And whoso is retaining her `is' happy.
7This thy stature hath been like to a palm, And thy breasts to clusters.
8I said, `Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,
6Forsake her not, and she doth preserve thee, Love her, and she doth keep thee.
15His limbs pillars of marble, Founded on sockets of fine gold, His appearance as Lebanon, choice as the cedars.
1Every wise woman hath builded her house, And the foolish with her hands breaketh it down.
12Because our sons `are' as plants, Becoming great in their youth, Our daughters as hewn stones, Polished -- the likeness of a palace,
2At the head of high places by the way, Between the paths she hath stood,
3At the side of the gates, at the mouth of the city, The entrance of the openings, she crieth aloud,
12We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;
4Say to wisdom, `My sister Thou `art'.' And cry to understanding, `Kinswoman!'
4If thou dost seek her as silver, And as hid treasures searchest for her,
3She hath sent forth her damsels, She crieth on the tops of the high places of the city:
4`Who `is' simple? let him turn aside hither.' Whoso lacketh heart: she hath said to him,
6For, at a window of my house, Through my casement I have looked out,
14Who is saying, `I build for myself a large house, And airy upper chambers,' And he hath cut out for himself its windows, Ceiled with cedar, and painted with vermillion.
9If my heart hath been enticed by woman, And by the opening of my neighbour I laid wait,
12Now in an out-place, now in broad places, And near every corner she lieth in wait) --
22Ornamental coverings she hath made for herself, Silk and purple `are' her clothing.