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 dessert,
But for his holy name.
Yea, in death’s shads black abode
Well may I walk, not 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.
- George Herbert