J. H. Gilmore
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.