“Your throne is God’s throne, ever and always; The scepter of your royal rule measures right living. You love the right and hate the wrong. And that is why God, your very own God, poured fragrant oil on your head, Marking you out as king from among your dear companions. “Your forest-drenched garments are fragrant with mountain breeze. Chamber music—from the throne room— makes you want to dance. Kings’ daughters are maids in your court, the Bride glittering with golden jewelry. * * * “Now listen, daughter, don’t miss a word: forget your country, put your home behind you. Be here—the king is wild for you. Since he’s your lord, adore him. Wedding gifts pour in from Tyre; rich guests shower you with presents.”
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