By the still wa­ters lead me, for I thirst,
And my o’er­heat­ed brow I fain would lave;
And oh! per­mit me, ho­ly Shep­herd, first
To see Thy face re­flect­ed from the wave
Beside mine own, that so my soul may know
These are the sourc­es whence all heal­ings flow.

By the still wa­ters lead me! I am faint
With my long jour­ney through the de­sert way.
And my white robes have caught an earth­ly taint
I fain would hide from the re­veal­ing day;
But Thou, O Sav­ior! canst these stains ef­face
In those pure wa­ters where no taint hath place!

By the still wa­ters lead me! I have trod
A way both dark and rough, with sor­rows strewn;
And to my spi­rit’s depths have felt the rod.
Nor failed to bless the hand no more un­known;
But now I faint and tire, and long to be
By the still wa­ters, and at rest with Thee.

By the still wa­ters! But God’s will be done!
I would not cast the bur­den He has laid
On heart and flesh, lest, ere my race be run,
I might for­get where­on my hope is stayed.
Dear Sav­ior, guide, con­trol me, till I stand
By those still wa­ters in Thine own bright land.