The Lord My Pasture Shall Prepare

The Lord my pas­ture shall pre­pare

And feed me with a shep­herd’s care;

His pre­sence shall my wants sup­ply

And guard me with a watch­ful eye;

My noon­day walks He shall at­tend

And all my mid­night hours de­fend.

When in the sul­try glebe I faint

Or on the thirs­ty mount­ain pant

To fer­tile vales and de­wy meads

My wea­ry

wan­der­ing steps He leads

Where peace­ful riv­ers

soft and slow

Amid the ver­dant land­scape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread

With gloomy hor­rors ov­er­spread

My stead­fast heart shall fear no ill

For Thou

O Lord

art with me still;

Thy friend­ly crook shall give me aid

And guide me through the dread­ful shade.

Though in a bare and rug­ged way

Through de­vi­ous lone­ly wilds

I stray

Thy boun­ty shall my pains be­guile;

The bar­ren wil­der­ness shall smile

With sud­den greens and herb­age crowned

And streams shall mur­mur all around.