When you lie down among the sheepfolds, you shall be like the wings of a dove covered with silver, and its pinions with yellow gold.

O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the cliff, let me see your form, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your appearance is beautiful.

Like a twittering swallow, so I chatter; I mourn as a dove; my eyes look weakly to the heights. O Jehovah, I am distressed; be surety for me.

We all roar like bears, and mourn with moaning like doves; we look for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far off from us.

O you who dwell in Moab, leave the cities and live in the rock, and be like the dove that makes her nest in the sides of the mouth of the cave.

Those who survive will escape and be on the mountains like doves of the valleys, all of them mourning, each for his iniquity.