... 

Dear stream! dear bank, where often I
Have sate and pleas'd my pensive eye,
Why, since each drop of thy quick store
Runs thither where it flow'd before,
Should poor souls fear a shade or night,
Who came, sure, from a sea of light?
 ... 

With what deep murmurs through time's silent stealth
Doth thy transparent, cool, and wat'ry wealth
    Here flowing fall,
    And chide, and call,
As if his liquid, loose retinue stay'd
Ling'ring, and were of this steep place afraid;
    The common pass
    As clear as glass
    All must descend
    Not to an end,
But quicken'd by this deep and rocky grave,
Rise to a longer course more bright and brave.

 ... 

The God of love my Shepherd is,
And He that doth me feed;
While He is mine and I am His,
What can I lack or need?

 ... 

Yea, in death's shady black abode
Well may I walk, not fear;
For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
To guard, Thy staff to bear.

Surely Thy sweet and wondrous love
Shall measure all my days;
And as it never shall remove
So neither shall my praise.