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Whose face is it that we long to see?
That every d(r)ied bones His healing comes.
Whose face is it for the sun to rise?
That He shines so bright even to our darkest sides.

In the midst of the dark, He strolls us out
Now, whose words is it that our raging seas calm?
In the depths of the oceans, the thunder roars
But His rod becomes the correction of the soul.

Whose words is it that we call the Breath of Life?
For we died for a moment and sins were torn.
From East to West, every transgression is gone
He says, “Behold, I am coming soon.”