The God of love my Shepherd is,
And he that doth me feed,
While he is mine and l am his,
What can I want or need?

He leads me to the tender grass,
Where I both feed and rest,
Then to the streams that gently pass,
In both I have the best.

Or if I stray, he doth convert
And bring my mind in frame
And all this not for my desert,
But tor his Holy name.

Yea, in death's shady black abode,
Well may walk, not fear
For thou art with me, and thy rod
to guide, thy staff to bear.

Surely, thy sweet and wondrous love
Shall measure all my days,
And, as it never shall remove,
So neither shall my praise.