Song of Songs 3–4: The Night Search, the Wedding Litter, and the Garden Locked
Scripture: Berean Standard Bible
On my bed at nightI sought the one I love;I sought him,but did not find him.I will arise now and go about the city,through the streets and squares.I will seek the one I love.So I sought him but did not find him.
I encountered the watchmen on their rounds of the city:“Have you seen the one I love?”I had just passed them when I found the one I love.I held him and would not let gountil I had brought him to my mother’s house,to the chamber of the one who conceived me.
O daughters of Jerusalem, I adjure youby the gazelles and does of the field:Do not arouse or awaken loveuntil the time is right.
Who is this coming up from the wildernesslike a column of smoke,scented with myrrh and frankincensefrom all the spices of the merchant?Behold, it is Solomon’s carriage,escorted by sixty of the mightiest men of Israel.All are skilled with the sword,experienced in warfare.Each has his sword at his sideprepared for the terror of the night.
King Solomon has made his carriageout of the timber of Lebanon.He has made its posts of silver,its base of gold, its seat of purple fabric.Its interior is inlaid with loveby the daughters of Jerusalem.
Come out, O daughters of Zion,and gaze at King Solomon,wearing the crown his mother bestowedon the day of his wedding—the day of his heart’s rejoicing.
The BridegroomHow beautiful you are, my darling—how very beautiful!Your eyes are like dovesbehind your veil.Your hair is like a flock of goatsstreaming down Mount Gilead.Your teeth are like a flock of newly shorn sheepcoming up from the washing;each has its twin,and not one of them is lost.Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon,and your mouth is lovely.Your brow behind your veilis like a slice of pomegranate.Your neck is like the tower of David,built with rows of stones;on it hang a thousand shields,all of them shields of warriors.Your breasts are like two fawns,twins of a gazelle grazing among the lilies.
Before the day breaks and the shadows flee,I will make my wayto the mountain of myrrhand to the hill of frankincense.You are altogether beautiful, my darling;in you there is no flaw.
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride,come with me from Lebanon!Descend from the peak of Amana,from the summits of Senir and Hermon,from the dens of the lions,from the mountains of the leopards.You have captured my heart,my sister, my bride;you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes,with one jewel of your neck.How delightful is your love,my sister, my bride!Your love is much better than wine,and the fragrance of your perfume than all spices.Your lips, my bride,drip sweetness like the honeycomb;honey and milk are under your tongue,and the fragrance of your garmentsis like the aroma of Lebanon.
My sister, my bride, you are a garden locked up,a spring enclosed, a fountain sealed.Your branches are an orchard of pomegranateswith the choicest of fruits, with henna and nard,with nard and saffron, with calamus and cinnamon,with every kind of frankincense tree,with myrrh and aloes,with all the finest spices.You are a garden spring,a well of fresh waterflowing down from Lebanon.
The BrideAwake, O north wind,and come, O south wind.Breathe on my gardenand spread the fragrance of its spices.Let my beloved come into his gardenand taste its choicest fruits.