Rhyming Song of Songs: Chapter 1

She:

Let him kiss me with mouth-to-mouth aligned,
your love is more delightful than is wine.
Most pleasing fragrances, perfumes of yours.
Your name is like, poured from a vial, perfume.
No wonder the young women all love you!
Take me away with you–let us make haste!
Let the king take me to his chamber place.

Friends:

We both rejoice, as well, in you, delight,
we’ll praise your love more than we will the wine.

She:

They’re right to make you adoration’s mark!
Yes, daughters of Jerusalem, I’m dark
yet lovely, just like Kedar’s tents undone,
like curtains of the tent of Solomon.
Do not stare at me for I am so dark,
because the sunlight left its dark’ning marks.
With me, my mother’s sons, they, angry, felt,
and made me take care of the vineyards well;
and my own vineyard, I had to neglect.
Tell me, you whom I love, where you, your flock
will graze, where you rest your sheep at midday.
Why should I be a woman with a veil
beside the flocks of your friends, put away?

Friends:

Most beautiful of women if you don’t
know where, the sheep’s tracks, you should follow, go,
and by the shepherd’s tents, graze your young goats.

He:

I liken you, may darling, to a mare
‘mongst Pharaoh’s horses, chariots, they’re paired.
Your cheeks are beautiful, with earrings, graced,
your neck with strings of jewels. For you, we’ll make
some golden earrings, silver studs, inlaid.

She:

The king while he was at his table’s feast,
its fragrance spread, was my perfume, so sweet.
A myrrh sachet is my beloved to me,
my breasts is where he’s resting, there, between.
A henna blossom cluster, him, to me,
is my beloved, from vineyards, En Gedi’s.

He:

How beautiful you are, my darling one!
Oh yes, how beautiful, your eyes are doves.

She:

How handsome you are to me, my beloved!
How charming, oh, our bed’s a verdant grove.

He:

Our house’s beams are made from cedars, strong;
our rafters, firs, their planks are thick and long.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 12

Remember your Creator in the days
when you are young, for certain, trouble’s days
will come, the years approach, when you will say:
“No pleasure in them, no more, they convey”–
before the sun and light, and stars and moon
grow dark, and after rain, the clouds return;
when they will tremble, those, the house, who keep,
and strong men stoop, when grinders’ work, they cease
for they are few, those who, through windows, peer,
grow dim; when they’re closed, to the street, the doors,
and sounds of grinding fades; when people rise
up at the sound of birds, but all their songs
grow faint; when people are afraid of heights
and of uncertain dangers in the streets;
the almond tree, when it is blossoming,
and the grasshopper drags itself along,
desire is gone, no longer is it stirred.
To their eternal home, are men interred,
and mourners wailing, in the streets, their dirge.

Remember him–before the silver cord
is severed, broken, is the golden bowl;
before the pitcher’s shattered at the spring,
and at the well, the wheel won’t pull the string,
and down back to the ground where it came from,
the dust returns, so too, to God, to him,
who gave it, you, the spirit will return.

“All meaningless! All meaningless!”, he says,
the Teacher. “Everything is meaningless!”

The Conclusion of the Matter

Not only was the Teacher wise, but too,
the people, he imparted knowledge to.
He pondered, searched out and in order, set
the many proverbs. To find just the right
words, searched, the Teacher, and whate’er he wrote
was upright, true. Their words are just like goads,
those of the wise, like nails, embedded, drove,
their sayings, all collected, firmly, those–
by just a single shepherd they’re bestowed.
Be warned, my son, to them, of anything,
that’s in addition. Many books, to make,
there is no end to that activity
much study makes the body, weary, feel.
Now all’s been heard; conclude, here’s where, can we,
the matter: Fear God, his commandments, keep,
for this is mankind’s duty. For God brings
each deed to judgment, ev’ry hidden thing,
and whether good or evil, balancing.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 11

Invest in Many Ventures

Your grain, you ship across the sea that churns;
and after many days, receive returns.
Invest in seven ventures, yes, in eight;
you don’t know what disasters, how they may
descend upon the land. If clouds are full
of water, rain, upon the earth, they pour.
A tree falls, whether, to the south or north,
where’er it falls, in that place, it will lie.
Whoever watches wind with frightened eyes
will never plant, who looks up to the sky
and sees the clouds, no reaping when it’s time.

As you don’t know the path the wind will take,
how, in a mother’s womb, a body’s made,
so you can’t understand the work of God,
the Maker of all things. So sow your seed
in morning time, when it is in the eve’,
don’t let your hands, to idleness, concede,
for you don’t know what venture will succeed,
if this or that, or both well, equally.

Remember Your Creator While Young

Light’s sweet, to see the sun, the eyes are pleased.
How many years a man’s not yet deceased,
let him enjoy them all. But let him keep
the days of darkness in his memory
for certain, of those, many he will see.
For everything to come is meaningless.

You who are young, while your youth still persists,
be happy then, and let your heart give you
joy in the days when you still have your youth.
Its ways, your heart’s, you should be following,
pursuing everything your eyes might see,
but know that it will be for all these things
that God will, you, to judgment, someday bring.
So banish, from your heart, anxiety,
the troubles of your body, outwards fling,
both vigor, youth, they neither mean a thing.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 10

As dead flies give perfume a smell that’s brown,
a little folly, wisdom, honor, drowns.
The hearts of wise men, to the right, incline,
the fools’, the left, they’re sinister, defined.
E’en as fools walk along the road, no sense,
to everyone, stupidity’s expressed.
If ‘gainst you does a ruler’s anger rise,
don’t leave your post; your calmness, it can lay
to rest offenses that seem heavy, grave.

There is an evil I’ve seen ‘neath the sun,
the sort of error that arises from
a ruler: high positions filled with fools,
while rich men, only lower places, rule.
I have seen slaves, on horseback they will ride,
while princes go on foot, slaves, they are like.

Whoe’er will dig a pit may fall to it;
who breaks a wall, by snakes he may be bit.
Who quarries stones may, by them, injured, be;
whoe’er splits logs, they’re, him, endangering.

If dull, the axe, unsharpened is its edge,
more strength required, but skill will bring success.

If, prior to its charm, the snake will bite,
the charmer will, from that, no fee derive.

They’re gracious, words a wise man’s mouth will quip,
but fools are e’er consumed by their own lips.
At the beginning, folly, all their words;
and wicked madness, at the end, they are–
and fools, their words will always multiply.

Nobody knows what’s coming–what transpires,
whoe’er can tell, what happens after them,
somebody else? The fools’ toil: wearisome;
they do not know the way back into town.

Woe to the land whose king is but a child,
whose princes feast, but in the morning time.
Blessed land whose king, of the nobility,
whose princes’ eating times set properly–
they’re ne’er for drunkenness, but only strength.

Through laziness, the house’s rafters creak;
because of idle hands, the house will leak.

Wine makes life merry, feasts are made for laughs,
for everything, the answer, money, is.

Not even in your thoughts, revile the king,
or curse the rich, your bedroom, there, within,
your words, by air, a bird could carry them,
and also, one, a bird that’s on the wing
may tell, report what you’ve said, everything.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 9

A Common Destiny for All

So after I reflected on all this,
concluded, I, that both the righteous, wise,
whate’er they do, God’s hands command their fates,
but no one knows if it is love or hate,
what’s their reward, the future, them awaits.

A common destiny, all share, they would–
the righteous, wicked, both the bad and good,
the clean and unclean, off’ring sacrifice,
some will, and some think nothing with suffice.

As it is with the good, the sinful, too;
just as it is with, take their oaths, those who,
so with those who’re afraid, all oaths eschewed.

This is the evil that’s in everything
that happens ‘neath the sun: the destiny,
the same one overtakes all men on earth.
Moreover, in the people’s hearts, no dearth
of evil and there’s madness in their hearts
while they still live, and they’ll join, afterward,
the dead. Yet anyone who is among
the living, then, their hope possesed, still some–
a live dog better than a lion, dead!

The living know it ends, the life they’ve lead,
but dead men, nothing, know, no more aspire
to further gain, reward, their names forgot.
They’ve long since vanished: jealousy, love, hate,
and ne’er again will they participate
in anything that happens ‘neath the sun.
Go eat your food, with gladness, drink your wine
with joy inside your heart for God’s approved
already everything that you would do.

You e’er be clothed in white, and e’er anoint
your head with oil. Your life, you should enjoy
with her, your wife, to whom, love, you’d express,
the days God’s given you, all meaningless
ones of your life that’s ‘neath the sun–all yours,
your days are meaningless. To you, inured,
your lot in life, your labor, toilsome work
beneath the sun. Whate’er to do, its search,
your hand’s, do that will all might you’d assert,
for in the realm, the dead’s, where you’ll soon go,
there’s neither working, planning, wisdom known.

I have seen something else that’s ‘neath the sun:
The race, not always, by the swiftest, won,
nor they, in war, the strong e’er have success,
nor food is always what the wise possess,
nor to the brilliant, wealth in excess,
nor favor to the learned; but time and chance
will happen to them all. Moreso, no one
knows at the moment, when their hour has come:
As fish caught in a cruel net, that is where,
or birds are taken, trapped inside a snare,
so people, trapped, by evil times will be
that on them fall most unexpectedly.

Wisdom Better Than Folly

I, underneath the sun, saw also this,
of wisdom, an example, that impressed
me greatly: There was once a city, small
with only a few people, all in all.
And a king, powerful, against it, came,
surrounded, built huge siege works, it, against.
A poor but wise man, in that city, lived,
and by his wisdom, he, the city saved.
But nobody remembered that poor man.
So I said, “Wisdom, sure, strength, better than.”
But the poor man, his wisdom is despised,
his words, no longer heeded or admired.
The quiet words, those ones spoke by the wise,
more to be heeded than shouts that arise
from him, the king of all the fools, his cries.
Than war, its weapons, wisdom, better, is.
He can destroy much good, just one who sins.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 8

Who’s like the wise? Of things, whoever knows
their explanation? How it makes it glow,
will wisdom brighten someone in their face,
its hard appearance, wisdom, it will change.

Obey the King

Obey the king’s command, because, I say,
you took an oath, before God, what you made.
You find yourself, the presence of the king,
don’t hurry quickly, from his throne, to leave.
You shouldn’t ever stand for a bad cause,
for he will do whatever, him, will please.
Who can say to the king, his word’s supreme:
“What are you doing, this activity?”
Whoe’er obeys what he commands will come
to no harm, and the wise in heart, the time
they’ll know, when’s proper and proced’rally.
For every matter, proper times and ways,
e’en though by misery, they’re downwards weighed.
Since no one knows the future, who can tell
what is to come for them, for someone else?
As no one has, o’er wind, pow’r to contain,
so no one has pow’r o’er their death, its date.
As no one is discharged in time of war,
so wickedness won’t, its practitioners,
release them. How I witnessed this design

as I, to everything, applied my mind,
that’s done beneath the sun. There is a time
when, over others, to his detriment,
a man will lord it over to their hurt.
Then too, I saw the wickeds’ burials–
those who would come and go, where they’re praised well,
the holy place, the city, they did this.
This also, something that is meaningless.

Whene’er the sentence for a crime delayed,
with schemes to do wrong, people’s hearts are filled.
Although a wicked person who commits
a hundred crimes, for a long time, may live,
I know that it will go much better with
those fearing God, who’re reverent ‘fore him.
Because the wicked, yet, do not fear God,
it won’t go well with them, the paths they trod,
and days, like shadows, ne’er grow long, will theirs.

There’s something else that here on earth occurs
that’s meaningless: the righteous who receive
that, what the wicked, they instead, deserve,
and, they, the wicked, this is what they get:
the things that should be paid to righteous men.
This too, I saw, is something meaningless.
So, life’s enjoyment, that, what I commend,
because there’s nothing that is better than
a person, eating, drinking, ‘neath the sun,
and being glad. Then joy accomp’nies them
in that, their toil, all of the days, their lives
God’s given them to live ‘neath sun and sky.

When I, for wisdom’s knowledge, would, my mind
apply, and labor, done on earth, observe–
the sleepless days and nights that men endure–
the I saw all that God has done. No one
can comprehend what goes on ‘neath the sun.
To search it out, despite all efforts made,
no one, its meaning, can e’er ascertain.
E’en if the wise would claim that they know it,
to comprehend it, really, they cannot.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 2

Pleasures Are Meaningless

I, to myself said, “Come now, I will test
you, all the ways that pleasure is expressed,
what things are good.” This proved as meaningless,
as well to be. I said, “This madness, is,
my laughter. And what it accomplishes,
my pleasure?” I tried cheering up myself–
with folly, wine, embracing that as well,
my mind still guiding me with wisdom yet.
I wished to see what things, on goodness, set,
for people to, beneath the heavens, do,
what pass-times for their lives’ days, numbered few.

I undertook great projects, houses built,
myself, them for, some vineyards I did plant.
I made some gardens, parks, I planted trees,
all kinds of fruiting, in them. Reservoirs,
I made, to water flour’shing trees in groves.
I bought both male and also female slaves,
and others, to my house, by birth conveyed.
I also owned more herds, and too, flocks, more
than any in Jerusalem before.
I, silver, gold, amassed both for myself,
kings’ treasures, and some provinces as well.
Both male and female singers I acquired,
a harem, too, delights man’s heart desires.
Than any in Jerusalem before,
became much greater, I, excelled by far.
In all this, all my wisdom I still held.

No thing my eyes desired, denied myself;
no pleasure I refused to give my heart.
My heart, in all my labor, took delight,
this, the reward, from all my toil derived.
Yet when I, all my hands had done, surveyed,
and what I’d toiled at, to achieve, those days,
that everything was meaningless, its sum:
a chasing of the wind beneath the sun,
and nothing gained, there was no new thing won.

Wisdom and Folly Are Meaningless

To wisdom, to consider it, my thoughts,
I turned, and also madness, folly, sought.
What more can the successor of the king
do than what has been done, precedingly?
I saw that wisdom is to be preferred
to folly, as the dark, to light, defers.
The wise have eyes to see placed in their heads,
while fools will walk in darkness; but instead,
I realized the same fate o’ertakes them both,

Then I said to myself, “It’s the fool’s fate,
that will, me, just as him, soon overtake.
What then, by having wisdom, can I gain?”
I, to myself said, “This is meaningless
as well.” For of the wise, remembrances
dismissed, and they’re forgotten just as fools;
the days have come, already when, eschewed,
the memories of both. Fools are just like
the wise, when both of them will someday die!

Toil Is Meaningless

So then I hated life, because the work
that’s done beneath the sun was grievous, sure,
to me. All of it, seen as meaningless,
a chasing after wind. What I’d detest?
I hated all things I’d toiled for beneath
the sun, because to them, whom I must leave,
to someone else who’s coming after me.
And who knows whether, how my heirs would be,
wise, foolish? Yet they will have full control
o’er all of it, the fruit that’s from my toil
into which I’ve poured all my effort, skill
beneath the sun. And I saw this as well
was meaningless. So my heart, it began
to feel despair o’er all my toiling hands
have labored at beneath the sun. With skill,
with knowledge, wisdom, in their laboring,
a person, someone who’s inheriting,
ne’er toiled, all that they own to someone else,
they leave them. This too, something meaningless
and a misfortune, great. What people get,
for all their anxious striving that they spend,
their labor underneath the sun? Their work,
all of their days, is grief and pain; disturbed,
at night, e’en then their minds can find no rest.
This also something that is meaningless.

A person can do nothing better than
to eat and drink, find satisfaction in
their toil, their own. Too, from the hand of God,
is this, I see, for who can eat or find
enjoyment without him? Who pleases him,
unto that person, God will wisdom, give,
too, knowledge, happiness, but him who sins,
to him, he gives the task of gathering
and storing wealth up for distributing,
to hand it over to one pleasing God.
This too is meaningless, like chasing wind.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 7

A good name is, to fine perfume, preferred,
the day of death, o’er that, the day of birth.
A house that mourns, it’s better to go there,
than to one where abundant food is shared,
for everyone, their destiny is death;
the living, this, should on their hearts, impress.
Preferred to laughter, be, frustration should,
a face that’s sad, it, for the heart, is good.
The heart of wise men in the house that mourns,
but fools, the house of pleasure, to there, borne.
To listen to a person’s, wise, rebuke
preferred to list’ning to the song of fools.
Like crackling thorns that ‘neath the pot will burn
so too, fools’ laughter, that is what is heard.
This also, something meaningless for sure.

Extortion will, into a fool, convert
a person, wise; how bribes corrupt the heart.

A matter’s end preferred to when it starts,
and patience better than a prideful heart.
Don’t be provoked, within your spirit, fast,
where anger will reside with fools: their laps.

Don’t say, “Why were the old days better than
these?” For it’s not wise to, such questions, ask.

Like an inheritance is wisdom good,
and benefits those ‘neath the sun at noon.
A shelter, that, the purpose wisdom serves,
for just like money, shelter, it ensures,
but knowledge, this advantage over wealth:
who has it, wisdom will preserve them well.

Consider these, the things that God has done:

what he’s made crooked, straighten it, who can?
When times are good, be happy, but when bad,
consider this: both bad and good, God made.
Thus, no one can discover anything
about their future. Both of these I’ve seen,
in this, my life, that’s always meaningless:
the righteous perish in their righteousness,
the wicked live long in their wickedness.

So don’t be overrighteous, overwise–
and through it, you’d destroy yourself, but why?
Do not be overwicked or a fool–
why should you die before your time’s unspooled?
It’s good to grasp the one, and not let go
the other one, of that, both, you should know.
Whoe’er fears God, extremes, all, will avoid.

When just one person, wisdom, they’ve employed,
more power than ten rulers’ multiplied,
within a city. No one here who’s right,
on earth, none righteous, no one never sins.

Each word that people say, do not attend,
or you may hear your servant cursing you–
for you know in your heart your anger grew,
and you, for others, curses your mouth spewed.

All this, by wisdom, tested and I said,

“To wisdom, gain, I am determinèd”–
but this was something that was me, beyond.
Whate’er exists, far off and most profound–
who can discover it? So, how I turned
my mind to understand, investigate
and search out wisdom, how things are arranged,
of wickedness, to understand its trait:
stupidity, and folly’s madness, great.

I find its bitterness, death’s, greater than:
the woman who’s a snare, whose heart’s a trap,
and chains, what she would have in place of hands.
The man who pleases God will, her, escape,
but she’ll ensnare the sinner. “Look,” he says,
the Teacher, “this, what I’ve discoverèd:

“One thing upon another, that I’d add,
the scheme of things, so I’d discover that–
while I still searched, but never did I find–
a thousand men, ‘mongst them, just one upright,
but not one woman, upright, ‘mongst them all.
This only have I found, what’s actual:
God, upright, man, created, but they’ve gone
in search of many schemes and diff’rent cons.”