The Lord is my shep­herd, my guard and my guide;
Whatever I need He will kind­ly pro­vide;
E’er since I was born, it is He who has crowned
The life which He gave me with bless­ings all around.

While yet on the breast a poor in­fant I hung,
E’er time had un­loosèd the strings of my tongue;
He gave me the help which I then could not ask,
Now there­fore to praise Him shall be my tongue’s task.

Through ten­der­est years with as ten­der a care,
My soul, like a lamb, in His bo­som He bare;
To brook He would lead me when­e’er I had need,
And point out the pas­tures where best I might feed.

No harm could ap­proach me, for He was my shield
From fowls of the air and beasts of the field;
The wolf to de­vour me did oft­en­times prowl,
But God was my shep­herd, and guard­ed my soul.

How oft in my youth did I wan­der as­tray;
But al­ways He brought me back to the nar­row way;
When lost in dark er­ror, no path or re­treat,
His word like a lan­tern still guid­ed my feet.

What won­drous es­capes to His kind­ness I owe,
When rash and un­guard­ed, I sought my own woe!
My soul long ere now would have been in the deep
If God had not watchèd when I was asleep.

Whene’er at a dist­ance, He sees me afraid,
He flies o’er the mount­ains and comes to my aid,
Then leads me back gent­ly and bids me abide
In His flock en­fold­ed, kept close by His side.

How safe in His keep­ing, how hap­py and free,
I al­ways have re­fuge where He bids me be!
Yea, blest are the people, and hap­py thrice told,
Who hear the Lord’s voice, and abide in His fold.

The fount­ain is full, and the pas­ture so green,
All friend­ship and love, with no poi­son there­in;
The Lord dwells among them up­on His own hill,
His flock all around Him, await­ing His will.

Himself in the midst with a pro­vi­dent eye,
Regarding their wants and pro­vid­ing sup­ply;
Abundance springs up of most nour­ishing food:
The flocks are all fed by their ge­ner­ous God.

By His voice or sign do they move or they stay:
The Lord is Him­self both their lead­er and way;
Whate’er the con­di­tion He plac­es them in,
It always is best, and they’re hap­py there­in.

In hun­ger or thirst, or if rea­dy to faint,
Relief in due sea­son pre­vents the com­plaint;
The rain of His Word brings them food from the sky—
The rocks become ri­vers, the dust no long­er dry.

From blos­som­ing hills to the hard, bar­ren rock,
The Lord has made all for the good of His flock;
The flock in re­turn doth their great Lord con­fess,
In plen­ty their joy, and their hope in dis­tress,

We see in their wel­fare His glo­ry dis­played;
And they find their bliss in obe­di­ence re­paid.
With cheer­ful regard they at­tend to His ways:
Attention in pray­er, and hap­pi­ness in praise.

The Lord is my shep­herd: What then shall I fear?
No dan­ger shall fright me while He is so near;
For I know His judg­ments, when me they have tried,
Will bring me and seat me down close by His side.

The Lord He is good, and His mer­cy is sure,
He on­ly af­flicts me in order to cure;
The Lord, I will praise Him, as long as I’ve breath,
Content all my days, and re­signed at my death.