We each have our song to sing,
be it a hymn of weal or woe.
Today I met a man named Jesus.
He came to our town of Jericho
not to stay, I heard, but just to pass through.
But he stayed, stayed at my house,
despite my being known as a sinner.
He gave us a gift, the gift of freedom,
an awareness of love, the grace of acceptance.
He called it salvation; I call it joy.
So I sing my simple song,
a tune of gratitude, a hymn of praise.
When the wind blows here in Jericho,
I hear the song in the leaves of the sycamore tree.