The Lord's my Shep-herd, I'll not want,
He makes me down to lie
In pas-tures green; He lead-eth me
The qui-et wa-ters by.

My soul He doth re-store a-gain;
And me to walk doth make
With-in the paths of right-eous-ness,
E'en for His own Name's sake.

Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill;
For Thou art with me; and Thy rod
And staff me com-fort still.

My ta-ble Thou hast fur-nish-ed
In pres-ence of my foes;
My head Thou dost with oil a-noint,
And my cup o-ver-flows.

Good-ness and mer-cy all my life
Shall sure-ly fol-low me;
And in God's house for-ev-er-more
My dwell-ing-place shall be.