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, nor fear:
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
To guide, Thy staff to bear.
Nay, Thou dost make me sit and dine,
Ev’n in my enemies’ sight.
My head with oil, my cup with wine
Runs over, day and night.
Surely Thy sweet and wondrous love
Shall measure all my days;
And, as it never shall remove,
So neither shall my praise.
-HERBERT.