Words: George Herbert (1593–1632). Published posthumously in The Temple, 1633.
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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 guard, 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.