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.]