You who dwell in the gardens,
where my companions are listening,
let me hear your voice,
let me hear your voice.
Flee, my beloved,
like a gazelle,
like a young stag,
on the sweet scented mountains.
I am in his eyes
as one who has found peace,
my vineyard is here in front of me,
my vineyard is here in front of me,
Flee, my beloved,
like a gazelle,
like a young stag,
on the sweet scented mountains.
You who dwell in the gardens…
The Church through Baptism has been introduced into the gardens of the Kingdom "where the
companions are listening."
There, as she has been made mother and teacher of all nations because of the experience of
love she has received and because of the suffering, the joys, the failures, the recoveries and – we
could say – because of the history of salvation that the Song of Songs expresses, the Church is
invited by the Bridegroom to let her voice be heard in a final yearning.
The Church answers with an eschatological paschal cry: what she has come to know and
experienced of the Bridegroom makes her desire to flee with him in a final exodus "to the sweet
scented mountains," which is Heaven, forever free.

O Lord, help me, O Lord!
O Lord, help me, O Lord,
never to doubt you!
O Lord, help me, O Lord,
never to doubt your love!
The gift of your grace
has left my heart in blossom
with longings for love,
with longings for love;
I can do no more than suffer
and spend my life in sighs.
And in this flame of your love, this dark flame,
in this veil, that wraps my soul and stifles it,
I feel that my heart is displaced,
opening, pouring out,
like water flowing through your garden.
O Lord, help me, O Lord!
O Lord, help me, O Lord,
never to doubt you!
O Lord, help me, O Lord,
never to doubt your love!
And in this flame…

You stole my heart,
you stole my heart,
my sister, my bride,
you stole, you stole, my heart.
How beautiful your loves,
how beautiful your loves!
The fragrance of your perfumes
more than all the balsams of love.
Honey flows from your lips,
my bride, my sister,
honey and milk are under your tongue.
The fragrance of your garments
is the fragrance of Lebanon;
my sister, my bride,
tastier than wine are your loves.
A garden enclosed are you, sister of mine,
a sealed fountain, bride of mine!
Your fruits a paradise of pomegranates,
of nard and saffron, of myrrh and aloes
Awake wind, rise Auster, and come!
Blow in my garden
that it may release its scents,
and my beloved may enter my garden
and delight in its exquisite fruits.
I have already entered my garden,
my bride,
I have eaten my honey in its comb,
I have drunk my wine and my milk.
Friends, come! Drink, O my dear ones,
and get drunk!
You stole my heart…