His voice as the sound of a dulcimer sweet,
Is heard thro the shadows of death,
The cedars of Lebanon bow at his feet,
The air is perfum’d with his breath.

His lips as a fountain of righteousness flow,
That waters the garden of grace,
From which their salvation the gentiles shall know,
And bask in the smiles of his face.

O thou in whose presence my soul takes delight,
On whom, in affliction, I call;
My comfort by day, and my song in the night,
My hope, my salvation, my all.

Where dost thou at noontide resort with thy sheep,
To feed on the pastures of love?
Say why in the valley of death should I weep,
Or lone in the wilderness rove?

Recordings 1 2 3 4