The king of love my shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am his
And he is mine forever.
Where streams of living water flow,
My ransomed sould He leadeth
And, where the verdeant pastures grow,
With food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love he sought me,
And on his shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.
In death’s dark vale I fear no ill,
With thee, dear Lord, beside me,
Thy rod and staff my comfort still;
Thy cross before to guide me.