The beek is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to fly down on star thistle, he leadeth me beside the rosemary, he restoreth my queen. Yea tho I fly thru the valley of the shadow of mites, I will fear no robbers, for thou are with me. Thy smoke and thy hive tool they comfort me. Thou preparest foundation before me in the presence of my enemies. My comb runneth over. Surely, nectar and pollen will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the hive of the beek forever.