1 Come, see the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone:
the flowers appear in the meadows at last,
the time of singing has come.

2 The fig tree bears the young fruit,
the vines are fragrant and full;
the voice of the dove can be heard in the wood:
arise, my love, for I call!

3 O come, my love, come away!
To you, my own, I belong;
O come to the mountains of spices with me,
the gift of love for our song.

Christopher Idle from Song of Songs 2
© Christopher Idle/Jubilate Hymns Ltd
7. 7. 11. 7