O Thou, in whose presence my soul takes delight,
On whom in afflictions 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 this valley of death should I weep,
Or alone 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 if you've seen
The star that on Israel shone;
Say if in your tents my Beloved has been,
And where with His flock He has gone.

"What is Thy Beloved, Thy dignified fair,
What excellent beauties has He?
His charms and perfections be pleased to declare,
That we may embrace Him with thee."
This is my Beloved; 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 all the beauty of excellence glow,
And His eyes are as quivers of beams.
His voice as the sound of the dulcimer sweet
Is heard thru the shadows of death;
The cedars of Lebanon bow at His feet,
The air is perfumed with His breath.