My shep­herd is the Lord,
He ev­ery want doth fill;
He lead­eth me, He feed­eth me,
Beside the wa­ters still;
For His name’s glo­ry He
Guides me in right­eous ways,
Restores my soul when it grows cold,
Or in earth’s sha­dow strays.

Yea, tho’ thro’ death’s dark vale
I walk, I’ll lean on Thee,
Nor will I fear, for Thou art near,
Thy staff, it com­forts me;
When foes press ’round me sore,
To starve my soul, O Lord!
Thou dost pre­pare with lov­ing care
The ta­ble of Thy Word.

And Thy rich oil of grace
My head Thou’st poured up­on;
My bless­ing cup hast Thou filled up,
Thy mer­cies to me shown;
Surely shall Thy good­ness
And mer­cy fail me ne­ver,
And I shall dwell where glad songs swell
In my Lord’s house for­ev­er.