The God of love my Shepherd is,
and he that doth me feed;
while he is mine and I 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 for his holy Name.
Yea, in death's shady black abode
well may I 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.
Happy Sunday!
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