Hear the Voice of My Beloved

Okay, so this is not a Christmas song, nor even a hymn, strictly speaking. But the scripture reading for today in the Catholic liturgy was from Song of Solomon and it reminded me of this beautiful song. It's one of my very favorite songs of all time, especially as sung by Cynthia Clawson (see link to the video, below). I meant to post it several weeks ago, then I forgot and couldn't remember which song it was I intended to post -- until today when I was reminded of it. So I'm posting it today, lest I forget again.

* Maranatha * is an Aramaic expression usually translated as "Come, Lord" and associated with the second coming of Christ.

1

Hear the voice of my Beloved

Gently call at close of day.

Come, my love, oh come and meet me

Rise, oh rise, and come away.

2

Winter's dark will soon be over

And the rains are nearly done.

Flowers bloom and trees are budding;

Time for singing has begun.

3

I have waited through the shadows

For my Lord to call for me.

Now the morning breaks eternal;

In His light, His face I see.

Now the morning breaks eternal

And at last His face I see.

4

When you see the fig tree budding,

You will know the summer's near.

When you hear the words Iv'e spoken,

You will know my coming's near.

Keep on listening my beloved,

For my coming's very near.

Songwriters: Bill Gaither, Gloria L Gaither, Ron Griffin.

Please take a listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-FGjI4WVG4

Song of Solomon 2:8-14

The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.