All treasures come from the Perfect Divine Guru. ||1||Pause||
Chanting the Name of the Lord, Har, Har, the man lives.
The faithless cynic dies in shame and misery. ||1||
The Name of the Lord has become my Protector.
The wretched, faithless cynic makes only useless efforts. ||2||
Spreading slander, many have been ruined.
Their necks, heads and feet are tied by death's noose. ||3||
Says Nanak, the humble devotees chant the Naam, the Name of the Lord.
The Messenger of Death does not even approach them. ||4||13||18||
