There was a little city with few men in it, and a great king came against it and besieged it, building great siegeworks against it.
But there was found in it a poor, wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city. Yet no one remembered that poor man.
The words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the shouting of a ruler among fools.
Dead flies make the perfumer's ointment give off a stench; so a little folly outweighs wisdom and honor.
A wise man's heart inclines him to the right, but a fool's heart to the left.
Even when the fool walks on the road, he lacks sense, and he says to everyone that he is a fool.
folly is set in many high places, and the rich sit in a low place.
He who digs a pit will fall into it, and a serpent will bite him who breaks through a wall.
The words of a wise man's mouth win him favor, but the lips of a fool consume him.
A fool multiplies words, though no man knows what is to be, and who can tell him what will be after him?
The toil of a fool wearies him, for he does not know the way to the city.
Woe to you, O land, when your king is a child, and your princes feast in the morning!
Even in your thoughts, do not curse the king, nor in your bedroom curse the rich, for a bird of the air will carry your voice, or some winged creature tell the matter.
Give a portion to seven, or even to eight, for you know not what disaster may happen on earth.
If the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves on the earth, and if a tree falls to the south or to the north, in the place where the tree falls, there it will lie.
As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything.
So if a person lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember that the days of darkness will be many. All that comes is vanity.
and the doors on the street are shut—when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low—
My son, beware of anything beyond these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.
I compare you, my love, to a mare among Pharaoh's chariots.
My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh that lies between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of Engedi.
I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys.
As a lily among brambles, so is my love among the young women.
My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag. Behold, there he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, looking through the lattice.
Until the day breathes and the shadows flee, turn, my beloved, be like a gazelle or a young stag on cleft mountains.
What is that coming up from the wilderness like columns of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all the fragrant powders of a merchant?
King Solomon made himself a carriage from the wood of Lebanon.
Behold, you are beautiful, my love, behold, you are beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats leaping down the slopes of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes that have come up from the washing, all of which bear twins, and not one among them has lost its young.
Your lips are like a scarlet thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil.
Your neck is like the tower of David, built in rows of stone; on it hang a thousand shields, all of them shields of warriors.
Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that graze among the lilies.
A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a spring locked, a fountain sealed.
a garden fountain, a well of living water, and flowing streams from Lebanon.
I slept, but my heart was awake. A sound! My beloved is knocking. “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is wet with dew, my locks with the drops of the night.”
His head is the finest gold; his locks are wavy, black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside streams of water, bathed in milk, sitting beside a full pool.
Turn away your eyes from me, for they overwhelm me— Your hair is like a flock of goats leaping down the slopes of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of ewes that have come up from the washing; all of them bear twins; not one among them has lost its young.
Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil.
Before I was aware, my desire set me among the chariots of my kinsman, a prince.
Return, return, O Shulammite, return, return, that we may look upon you. Why should you look upon the Shulammite, as upon a dance before two armies?
How beautiful are your feet in sandals, O noble daughter! Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.
Your navel is a rounded bowl that never lacks mixed wine. Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies.
Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.
Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim. Your nose is like a tower of Lebanon, which looks toward Damascus.
Your head crowns you like Carmel, and your flowing locks are like purple; a king is held captive in the tresses.
Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters.
Oh that you were like a brother to me who nursed at my mother's breasts! If I found you outside, I would kiss you, and none would despise me.
The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.
ESV® Permanent Text Edition (2016). The ESV® text has been reproduced in cooperation with and by permission of Good News Publishers.
Unauthorized reproduction of this publication is prohibited. All rights reserved.