³¹ My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.

⁶ And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.

¹⁹ O deliver not the soul of thy turtledove unto the multitude of the wicked: forget not the congregation of thy poor for ever.

¹² 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;

¹⁴ 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.