He Leadeth Me O Blessed Thought

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He leadeth me! O bless-ed tho't, 
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O words with heav’n-ly com-fort fraught; 
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What-e’er I do, wher-e’er I be, 
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Still ’tis God’s hand that lead-eth me. 

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     He lead-eth me! He lead-eth me! 
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     By His own hand He lead-eth me; 
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     His faith-ful fol-l'wer I would be, 
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     For by His hand He lead-eth me. 

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Some-times ’mid scenes of deep-est gloom, 
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Some-times where E-den’s bow-ers bloom, 
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By wa-ters still, o’er trou-bled sea, 
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Still ’tis His hand that lead-eth me. 

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Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine, 
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Nor ev-er mur-mur nor re-pine; 
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Con-tent, what-eve-r lot I see, 
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Since 'tis Thy hand lead-est me. 

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And when my task on earth is done, 
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When, by Thy grace, the vic-t’ry’s won, 
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E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee, 
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Since God thro' Jor-dan lead-eth me!