Thou shep­herd of Is­ra­el, and mine,
The joy, and de­sire of my heart;
For close­r com­mun­ion I pine,
I long to re­side where Thou art:
The pas­ture I lang­uish to find,
Where all, who their shep­herd ob­ey,
Are fed, on Thy bos­om re­clined,
Are screened from the heat of the day.

Ah! show me that hap­pi­est place,
That place of Thy people’s ab­ode;
Where saints in an ec­sta­sy gaze,
And hang on a cru­ci­fied God:
Thy love for a sin­ner de­clare,
Thy pas­sion and death on the tree;
My spir­it to Cal­va­ry bear,
To suf­fer, and tri­umph with Thee.

’Tis there with the lambs of Thy flock,
There on­ly I cov­et to rest:
To lie at the foot of the rock,
Or rise to be hid in Thy breast;
’Tis there I would al­ways ab­ide,
And nev­er a mo­ment de­part,
Concealed in the cleft of Thy side,
Eternally held in Thine heart.