The Lord’s my shep­herd, I’ll not want.
He makes me down to lie
In pas­tures green; He lead­eth me
The qui­et waters by.

My soul He doth re­store again;
And me to walk doth make
Within the paths of right­eous­ness,
Even for His own name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk in death’s dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill;
For Thou art with me; and Thy rod
And staff my com­fort still.

My ta­ble Thou hast furnish­èd
In pre­sence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil an­oint,
And my cup ov­er­flows.

Goodness and mer­cy all my life
Shall sure­ly fol­low me;
And in God’s house for­ev­er­more
My dwell­ing place shall be.