Study Desk

The Chorus What's so great about your lover, fair lady? What's so special about him that you beg for our help?

The Chorus So where has this love of yours gone, fair one? Where on earth can he be? Can we help you look for him?

The Man Dear, dear friend and lover, you're as beautiful as Tirzah, city of delights, Lovely as Jerusalem, city of dreams, the ravishing visions of my ecstasy. Your beauty is too much for me—I'm in over my head. I'm not used to this! I can't take it in. Your hair flows and shimmers like a flock of goats in the distance streaming down a hillside in the sunshine. Your smile is generous and full— expressive and strong and clean. Your veiled cheeks are soft and radiant.

One day I went strolling through the orchard, looking for signs of spring, Looking for buds about to burst into flower, anticipating readiness, ripeness. Before I knew it my heart was raptured, carried away by lofty thoughts!

Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement— Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges —stirrings of desire, longings for the heights— Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion. You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. The Woman Yes, and yours are, too—my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine. I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him! Come, dear lover— let's tramp through the countryside. Let's sleep at some wayside inn, then rise early and listen to bird-song. Let's look for wildflowers in bloom, blackberry bushes blossoming white, Fruit trees festooned with cascading flowers. And there I'll give myself to you, my love to your love! Love-apples drench us with fragrance, fertility surrounds, suffuses us, Fruits fresh and preserved that I've kept and saved just for you, my love.

class="poetry"> Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement— Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges —stirrings of desire, longings for the heights— Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion. You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. The Woman Yes, and yours are, too—my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine. I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him! Come, dear lover— let's tramp through the countryside. Let's sleep at some wayside inn, then rise early and listen to bird-song. Let's look for wildflowers in bloom, blackberry bushes blossoming white, Fruit trees festooned with cascading flowers. And there I'll give myself to you, my love to your love! Love-apples drench us with fragrance, fertility surrounds, suffuses us, Fruits fresh and preserved that I've kept and saved just for you, my love.

class="poetry"> Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement— Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges —stirrings of desire, longings for the heights— Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion. You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. The Woman Yes, and yours are, too—my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine. I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him! Come, dear lover— let's tramp through the countryside. Let's sleep at some wayside inn, then rise early and listen to bird-song. Let's look for wildflowers in bloom, blackberry bushes blossoming white, Fruit trees festooned with cascading flowers. And there I'll give myself to you, my love to your love! Love-apples drench us with fragrance, fertility surrounds, suffuses us, Fruits fresh and preserved that I've kept and saved just for you, my love.

class="poetry"> Shapely and graceful your sandaled feet, and queenly your movement— Your limbs are lithe and elegant, the work of a master artist. Your body is a chalice, wine-filled. Your skin is silken and tawny like a field of wheat touched by the breeze. Your breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is carved ivory, curved and slender. Your eyes are wells of light, deep with mystery. Quintessentially feminine! Your profile turns all heads, commanding attention. The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges —stirrings of desire, longings for the heights— Remind me of you, and I'm spoiled for anyone else! Your beauty, within and without, is absolute, dear lover, close companion. You are tall and supple, like the palm tree, and your full breasts are like sweet clusters of dates. I say, "I'm going to climb that palm tree! I'm going to caress its fruit!" Oh yes! Your breasts will be clusters of sweet fruit to me, Your breath clean and cool like fresh mint, your tongue and lips like the best wine. The Woman Yes, and yours are, too—my love's kisses flow from his lips to mine. I am my lover's. I'm all he wants. I'm all the world to him! Come, dear lover— let's tramp through the countryside. Let's sleep at some wayside inn, then rise early and listen to bird-song. Let's look for wildflowers in bloom, blackberry bushes blossoming white, Fruit trees festooned with cascading flowers. And there I'll give myself to you, my love to your love!

Love-apples drench us with fragrance, fertility surrounds, suffuses us, Fruits fresh and preserved that I've kept and saved just for you, my love.

The Woman Hang my locket around your neck, wear my ring on your finger. Love is invincible facing danger and death. Passion laughs at the terrors of hell. The fire of love stops at nothing— it sweeps everything before it. Flood waters can't drown love, torrents of rain can't put it out. Love can't be bought, love can't be sold— it's not to be found in the marketplace. My brothers used to worry about me: "Our little sister has no breasts. What shall we do with our little sister when men come asking for her? She's a virgin and vulnerable, and we'll protect her. If they think she's a wall, we'll top it with barbed wire. If they think she's a door, we'll barricade it." Dear brothers, I'm a walled-in virgin still, but my breasts are full— And when my lover sees me, he knows he'll soon be satisfied. The Man King Solomon may have vast vineyards in lush, fertile country, Where he hires others to work the ground. People pay anything to get in on that bounty. But my vineyard is all mine, and I'm keeping it to myself. You can have your vast vineyards, Solomon, you and your greedy guests! Oh, lady of the gardens, my friends are with me listening. Let me hear your voice! The Woman Run to me, dear lover. Come like a gazelle. Leap like a wild stag on the spice mountains.

class="poetry"> I wish you'd been my twin brother, sharing with me the breasts of my mother, Playing outside in the street, kissing in plain view of everyone, and no one thinking anything of it. I'd take you by the hand and bring you home where I was raised by my mother. You'd drink my wine and kiss my cheeks. Imagine! His left hand cradling my head, his right arm around my waist! Oh, let me warn you, sisters in Jerusalem: Don't excite love, don't stir it up, until the time is ripe—and you're ready. The Chorus Who is this I see coming up from the country, arm in arm with her lover? The Man I found you under the apricot tree, and woke you up to love. Your mother went into labor under that tree, and under that very tree she bore you. The Woman Hang my locket around your neck, wear my ring on your finger. Love is invincible facing danger and death. Passion laughs at the terrors of hell. The fire of love stops at nothing— it sweeps everything before it. Flood waters can't drown love, torrents of rain can't put it out. Love can't be bought, love can't be sold— it's not to be found in the marketplace. My brothers used to worry about me: "Our little sister has no breasts. What shall we do with our little sister when men come asking for her? She's a virgin and vulnerable, and we'll protect her. If they think she's a wall, we'll top it with barbed wire. If they think she's a door, we'll barricade it."

"Why this frenzy of sacrifices?" God's asking. "Don't you think I've had my fill of burnt sacrifices, rams and plump grain-fed calves? Don't you think I've had my fill of blood from bulls, lambs, and goats? When you come before me, whoever gave you the idea of acting like this, Running here and there, doing this and that— all this sheer commotion in the place provided for worship?

"Quit your worship charades. I can't stand your trivial religious games: Monthly conferences, weekly Sabbaths, special meetings— meetings, meetings, meetings—I can't stand one more! Meetings for this, meetings for that. I hate them! You've worn me out! I'm sick of your religion, religion, religion, while you go right on sinning. When you put on your next prayer-performance, I'll be looking the other way. No matter how long or loud or often you pray, I'll not be listening. And do you know why? Because you've been tearing people to pieces, and your hands are bloody. Go home and wash up. Clean up your act. Sweep your lives clean of your evildoings so I don't have to look at them any longer. Say no to wrong. Learn to do good. Work for justice. Help the down-and-out. Stand up for the homeless. Go to bat for the defenseless.

Oh! Can you believe it? The chaste city has become a whore! She was once all justice, everyone living as good neighbors, And now they're all at one another's throats. Your coins are all counterfeits. Your wine is watered down. Your leaders are turncoats who keep company with crooks. They sell themselves to the highest bidder and grab anything not nailed down. They never stand up for the homeless, never stick up for the defenseless.

This Decree, therefore, of the Master, God -of-the-Angel-Armies, the Strong One of Israel: "This is it! I'll get my oppressors off my back. I'll get back at my enemies. I'll give you the back of my hand, purge the junk from your life, clean you up. I'll set honest judges and wise counselors among you just like it was back in the beginning. Then you'll be renamed City-That-Treats-People-Right, the True-Blue City." God 's right ways will put Zion right again. God 's right actions will restore her penitents. But it's curtains for rebels and God -traitors, a dead end for those who walk out on God . "Your dalliances in those oak grove shrines will leave you looking mighty foolish, All that fooling around in god and goddess gardens that you thought was the latest thing. You'll end up like an oak tree with all its leaves falling off, Like an unwatered garden, withered and brown. ‘The Big Man' will turn out to be dead bark and twigs, and his ‘work,' the spark that starts the fire That exposes man and work both as nothing but cinders and smoke."

The Message Isaiah got regarding Judah and Jerusalem: There's a day coming when the mountain of God 's House Will be The Mountain— solid, towering over all mountains. All nations will river toward it, people from all over set out for it. They'll say, "Come, let's climb God 's Mountain, go to the House of the God of Jacob. He'll show us the way he works so we can live the way we're made." Zion's the source of the revelation. God 's Message comes from Jerusalem. He'll settle things fairly between nations. He'll make things right between many peoples. They'll turn their swords into shovels, their spears into hoes. No more will nation fight nation; they won't play war anymore. Come, family of Jacob, let's live in the light of God .

Head for the hills, hide in the caves From the terror of God , from his dazzling presence.

People with a big head are headed for a fall, pretentious egos brought down a peg. It's God alone at front-and-center on the Day we're talking about, The Day that God -of-the-Angel-Armies is matched against all big-talking rivals, against all swaggering big names; Against all giant sequoias hugely towering, and against the expansive chestnut; Against Kilimanjaro and Annapurna, against the ranges of Alps and Andes; Against every soaring skyscraper, against all proud obelisks and statues; Against ocean-going luxury liners, against elegant three-masted schooners. The swelled big heads will be punctured bladders, the pretentious egos brought down to earth, Leaving God alone at front-and-center on the Day we're talking about.

And all those sticks and stones dressed up to look like gods will be gone for good.

On that Day men and women will take the sticks and stones They've decked out in gold and silver to look like gods and then worshiped, And they will dump them in any ditch or gully, Then run for rock caves and cliff hideouts To hide from the terror of God , from his dazzling presence, When he assumes his full stature on earth, towering and terrifying.