Ũtheri ũthiĩ na kĩruru, Tondũ ndũgĩcoka na matu ma ũrĩa. Mwoyo mũnene, kĩrĩa kĩa wendo, Nĩgũkũgĩra anjelu mathiĩ harĩa kũu. Ti arĩa maikũ maũru no mekũgĩa guoko gwake, No arĩa maragũrũ maĩkũ maũndũ. Nĩwe ũhũũraga arĩa matene, ũnyonaga arĩa marĩa, Arĩa marĩa maũru nĩmagũa, na arĩa marĩa matene nĩmatooragia!
The light shines through the broken edge, Not through proud eyes on glory’s ledge. The humbled soul, the silent cry, Draws angels down from higher sky. It’s not the strong that move His hand, But those who fall and choose to stand. He lifts the low, He shames the high, The proud will fall, the meek will fly.
In the stillness, He reigns above, A Father of mercy, a God of love. Through the storms, His whispers calm, He holds the world in His sovereign palm.