1901 American Standard Version (ASV)

Song of Songs 8

1 The love of the Church to Christ. 6 The vehemency of love. 8 The calling of the Gentiles. 14 The Church prayeth for Christ's coming.

 8:1 ¶ Oh that thou wert as my brother, That sucked the breasts of my mother! [When] I should find thee without, I would kiss thee; Yea, and none would despise me.

 8:2 I would lead thee, [and] bring thee into my mother's house, Who would instruct me; I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine, Of the juice of my pomegranate.

 8:3 His left hand [should be] under my head, And his right hand should embrace me.

 8:4 I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, That ye stir not up, nor awake [my] love, Until he please.

 8:5 Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple-tree I awakened thee: There thy mother was in travail with thee, There was she in travail that brought thee forth.

 8:6 ¶ Set me as a seal upon thy heart, As a seal upon thine arm: For love is strong as death; Jealousy is cruel as Sheol; The flashes thereof are flashes of fire, A very flame of Jehovah.

 8:7 Many waters cannot quench love, Neither can floods drown it: If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, He would utterly be contemned.

 8:8 ¶ We have a little sister, And she hath no breasts: What shall we do for our sister In the day when she shall be spoken for?

 8:9 If she be a wall, We will build upon her a turret of silver: And if she be a door, We will inclose her with boards of cedar.

 8:10 I am a wall, and my breasts like the towers [thereof] Then was I in his eyes as one that found peace.

 8:11 Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-hamon; He let out the vineyard unto keepers; Every one for the fruit thereof was to bring a thousand [pieces] of silver.

 8:12 My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: Thou, O Solomon, shalt have the thousand, And those that keep the fruit thereof two hundred.

 8:13 Thou that dwellest in the gardens, The companions hearken for thy voice: Cause me to hear it.

 8:14 ¶ Make haste, my beloved, And be thou like to a roe or to a young hart Upon the mountains of spices.