O Shep­herd beau­ti­ful, I pray Thee, feed me,
Forever in Thy beau­te­ous pas­ture land;
Where the liv­ing waters are I pray Thee lead me,
By Thine own hand.

When comes the dawn, and dewy slopes are wak­ing,
And frag­rant flow’rs un­fold to greet the light,
That thro’ the gold and rose of morn­ing break­ing,
Dispels the night.

And from the hills Thy prais­es are as­cend­ing,
A thou­sand voices, yea, a thou­sand more;
All in one joy­ous ju­bi­late blend­ing,
Their praise out­pour.

O Shep­herd beau­ti­ful, be near to guide me,
Fill all my soul with love and praise to Thee;
Let not my sup­pli­ca­tion be de­nied me,
Grant me to see.

The shin­ing of Thy foot­steps in the ri­ver,
To hear Thy voice far up the mount­ain side;
Put thou thy trust in Me, I will de­li­ver:
For thee I died.