1 Thou whom my soul admires above
All earthly joy, and earthly love,
Tell me, dear shepherd, let me know,
Where doth thy sweetest pasture grow?
2 Where is the shadow of that rock
That from the son defends thy flock?
Fain would I feed among thy sheep,
Among them rest, among them sleep.
3 Why should thy bride appear like one
That turns aside to paths unknown?
My constant feet would never rove,
Would never seek another love.
4 [The footsteps of thy flock I see;
Thy sweetest pastures here they be;
A wondrous feast thy love prepares,
Bought with thy wounds, and groans, and tears.
5 His dearest flesh he makes my food,
And bids me drink his richest blood;
Here to these hills my soul will come,
To my beloved lead me home.]