My beloved is unto me (as) a bundle of myrrh, That lieth betwixt my breasts.
Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense.
Awake, O north wind; And come, thou south; Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, And eat his precious fruits.
Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple-tree I awakened thee: There thy mother was in travail with thee, There was she in travail that brought thee forth.
Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?
And they came into the house and saw the young child with Mary his mother; and they fell down and worshipped him; and opening their treasures they offered unto him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh.