O Thou in Whose Presence

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 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

have ye seen

The star that on Is­ra­el shone?

Say

if in your tents my Be­lov­èd has been

And where

with His flocks

He is gone.

This is my Be­lov­èd; His form is di­vine;

His vest­ments shed od­ors around:

The locks of His head are as grapes on the vine

When au­tumn with plen­ty is crowned.

The ros­es of Sha­ron

the li­lies that grow

In vales

on the banks of the streams:

On His cheeks

all the beau­ties of ex­cel­lence glow

And 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.

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.

Love sits on His eye-lids

and scat­ters de­light

Through all the bright man­sions on high;

Their faces the cher­ub­im veil in His sight

And trem­ble with full­ness of joy.

He looks

and ten thou­sands of an­gels re­joice

And my­ri­ads wait for His word;

He speaks

and eter­ni­ty

filled with His voice

Re-echoes the praise of her Lord.

Dear Shep­herd

I hear and will fol­low Thy call;

I know the sweet sound of Thy voice.

Restore and de­fend me

for Thou art my all

And in Thee I will ev­er re­joice.