The maiden is the daughter of the light,
On whom rests the majestic splendor of Kings;
Delightsome is her sight,
Resplendant with brilliant beauty.
Her garments are like spring flowers
Sending forth sweet fragrance.
On the crown of her head the King is seated
Feeding with his ambrosia those who live under him
Truth rests upon her head,
Joy she shows forth with her feet.
Her mouth is opened, and becomingly
< She sings all hymns with it. >
Thirty-and-two are they who praise her.
Her tongue is like a door-curtain,
Drawn back for them who go in.[1]
Her neck ascends like steps
Made by the first creator.
Her two hands point predicting at the chorus of the blessed ages,
Her fingers at the gates of the city.
Her chamber is bright,
Breathing forth scent from balsam and every perfume,
Sending forth sweet odor of myrrh and savory herbs.
Within are strewn myrtle-branches and all manner of sweet smelling flowers,
The ingress is adorned with calamus.
- ↑ The Syriac reads here: drawn back by the priest who goes in.
