I shall not want.
Upon Thy arm re­ly­ing,
Hunger, and thirst,
And pain will flee away,
And that dark val­ley
Where the dead are ly­ing,
Smile like a gar­den
Where no flow­ers decay.

The win­try wind
In vain shall wave its pin­ion
O’er my de­fense­less
Head if Thou art nigh!
Ocean’s rough bi­llows,
’Neath Thy strong do­min­ion,
Still as a child
In cra­dle-sleep shall lie.

Soft clouds will tem­per
Rays too fierce­ly burn­ing,
If Thou my wea­ry
Feet will guide, sus­tain;
And through the toil,
And tears, and rest­less yearn­ing,
Thy migh­ty love
Will soothe the sharp­est pain.

I hear Thee in
The bird that greets the morn­ing;
I see Thee in
The mea­dow’s frag­rant bloom;
In gorg­eous clouds
The sun­set hours adorn­ing—
Nor less with­in
The por­tals of the tomb.

Through flick­er­ing leaves
The moon­beams gent­ly fall­ing,
The ze­phyr dy­ing
O’er a wave­less sea,
The night-bird to
His bro­ther softly call­ing,
All lead my spir­it
Upward un­to Thee!

And when from life,
And light, and beau­ty, fling­ing
Its rain­bow hues
Around where’er I tread,
I must go forth,
No death­less want up­spring­ing
Shall fet­ter wings
Too long in vain out­spread.