The Lord my pas­ture shall pre­pare
And feed me with a shep­herd’s care;
His pre­sence shall my wants sup­ply
And guard me with a watch­ful eye;
My noon­day walks He shall at­tend
And all my mid­night hours de­fend.

When in the sul­try glebe I faint
Or on the thirs­ty mount­ain pant,
To fer­tile vales and de­wy meads
My wea­ry, wan­der­ing steps He leads,
Where peace­ful ri­vers, soft and slow,
Amid the ver­dant land­scape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy hor­rors ov­er­spread,
My stead­fast heart shall fear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friend­ly crook shall give me aid
And guide me through the dread­ful shade.

Though in a bare and rug­ged way,
Through de­vi­ous lone­ly wilds, I stray,
Thy boun­ty shall my pains be­guile;
The bar­ren wil­der­ness shall smile,
With sud­den greens and herb­age crowned,
And streams shall mur­mur all around.