“There is no spot in thee."
We are the holy flock of God,
His sweet and blessed voice we know;
He guides us with his shepherd's rod,
And keeps us from our cruel foe.
Our Shepherd in a wondrous well
Hath wash'd us white, and pure, and fair
No stain upon our fleece can dwell,
Or leave a moment's blemish there.
And now he feeds his little flock,
Where living rills of comfort run;
These spreading trees, this shady rock,
Defend us from the noonday sun.
Sweet waters these-but oh! above
The streams of life more purely flow;
There all the joys of heavenly love
His fair unblemish'd flock shall know.
There we, beloved, redeem'd, and blest,
The sorrows of the desert o'er,
Beneath our Shepherd's eye shall rest,
Nor ever faint, nor hunger more.