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H. W. Baker
The King of love my shepherd is, whose goodness faileth never. I nothing lack if
Where streams of living water flow, my ransomed soul he leadeth; and where the verdant 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.
Thou spreadst a table in my sight; thy unction grace bestoweth; and oh, what transport of delight from thy pure chalice floweth!
And so through all the length of days, thy goodness faileth never; Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise within thy house forever.