J. H. Gilmore

L.M.D.

He leadeth me! O blessed thought,

O words with heavenly comfort fraught;

Whate’er I do, where’er I be,

Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.

He leadeth me! He leadeth me!

By His own hand He leadeth me;

His faithful follower I would be,

For by His hand He leadeth me.

2

Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom,

Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom,

By waters still, o’er troubled sea,

Still ’tis His hand that leadeth me.

3

Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine,

Nor every murmur or repine;

Content, whatever lot I see,

Since ’tis my God that leadeth me.

4

And when my task on earth is done,

When, by Thy grace, the victory’s won,

E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee,

Since Thou through Jordan leadest me.