In His Bosom

I’ll follow the lamb wherever he goes,
He leads me on a path that heaven only knows.
I do not hunger, neither do I thirst
For from a land of dryness suddenly fountain’s burst.

Lovingly He has washed my clothes,
In a stream that from his throne only flows.
I do not suffer, neither am I cursed
For in His death my soul in His spirit immersed.

Beautiful saviour, that bears my woes,
Why this bud from a dead staff only grows?
I am not greater, neither am I first
Yet in Your bosom I am the greatest creature pursed.