Down in the pleasant pastures,
Beside the waters still,
Behold the Shepherd leadeth
His little flock at will:
Gently, oh, gently guiding
The way His sheep must go,
Still onward to the Fountain
Where living waters flow.
The stranger’s voice they heed not—
He seeks their ear to win;
And never can a robber
The sheep-fold enter in.
No hireling is the Shepherd,
For He His watch will keep;
’Tis He alone who giveth
His own life for His sheep.
And all His own He knoweth,
He calleth them to come;
O’er distant hills they hear Him,
And so He draws them home.
Though ways be set with briers,
And though the path be steep,
They know His word of warning,
And the Shepherd knows His sheep.
Though shadows gather o’er them,
The night they do not fear;
Through silence and in darkness
His voice they still can hear.
Though tempest rave around them,
The wintry wind be cold,
They know His care surrounds them,
Safe sheltered in the fold.
If the wild wolf’s voice affright them,
By Shepherd’s side they keep;
For He who watcheth o’er them
Will slumber not, nor sleep.
The heedless sheep may wander,
He sees the wanderer’s track;
Over the hill, through valley,
He fondly lures it back.
With tenderness He cleanseth
The fleece from every stain;
Binds up each wound, and raiseth
The weary one again.
With no harsh blow He greets it,
For all the pains it cost;
With smiles of love He meets it,
And but for Him ’twere lost.
If wayward lamb He findeth,
Doth cold He stand, aloof?
Or meet the little trembler
With voice of stern reproof?
With gentle words of welcome
Doth the Good Shepherd come,
And bears it in His bosom,
With fond rejoicing, home.
And other sheep He owneth,
Wandering from Him afar;
He, the Good Shepherd, knoweth
Where all His loved ones are.
The blessèd day is dawning,
That day by Him foretold,
When they shall own one Shepherd,
Safe sheltered in one fold.
