His voice, as the sound of the dulcimer sweet, is heard through the shadows of death;
The cedars of Lebanon bow at His feet, the air is perfumed with His breath.
His lips as the 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?

O! why should I wander an alien from thee, and cry in the desert for bread?
Thy foes will rejoice when my sorrows they see, and smile at the tears I have shed.
Ye daughters of Zion, declare, have you seen the Star that on Israel shone?
Say if in your tents my Belovèd hath been, and where, with His flock, is He gone?

“What is thy Belovèd, thou dignified fair? What excellent beauties hath He?
His charms and perfections be pleased to declare, that we may embrace Him with thee.”
This is my Belovèd, His form is divine; His vestments shed odor around;
The locks on His head are as grapes on the vine, when autumn with plenty is crowned.

The roses of Sharon, the lilies that grow in the vales, on the banks of the streams
On His cheeks in the beauty of excellence blow; His eyes are as quivers of beams.
His voice as the sound of the dulcimer sweet is heard through the shadows of death;
The cedars of Lebanon bow at His feet, the air is perfumed with His breath.

There’s a light upon the mountains,
And the day is at the spring,
When our eyes shall see the beauty
And the glory of the King:
Weary was our heart with waiting,
And the night watch seemed so long,
But His triumph day is breaking
And we hail it with a song.

In the fading of the starlight
We may see the coming morn;
And the lights of men are paling
In the splendors of the dawn;
For the eastern skies are glowing
As with light of hidden fire,
And the hearts of men are stirring
With the throbs of deep desire.

There’s a hush of expectation
And a quiet in the air
And the breath of God is moving
In the fervent breath of prayer;
For the suffering, dying Jesus
Is the Christ upon the throne,
And the travail of our spirit
Is the travail of His own.

He is breaking down the barriers,
He is casting up the way;
He is calling for His angels
To build up the gates of day:
But His angels here are human,
Not the shining hosts above;
For the drum beats of His army
Are the heartbeats of our love.

Hark! we hear a distant music
And it comes with fuller swell;
’Tis the triumph song of Jesus,
Of our King, Immanuel!
Go ye forth with joy to meet Him!
And, my soul, be swift to bring
All thy sweetest and thy dearest
For the triumph of our King!