His flock the heav’n­ly Shep­herd feeds,
By purl­ing streams in flow­ery meads;
He guards them both by night and day,
And guides them lest they go as­tray.

Or if by Sa­tan’s wiles mis­led,
They in for­bid­den paths should tread,
He time­ly warns them of their sin,
And turns their wan­der­ing feet again.

In dan­ger He is always nigh,
No ev­il can es­cape His eye;
He calls His sheep, He knows their names,
And gent­ly leads the tender lambs.

Beneath the sha­dow of a rock,
From scorch­ing suns He screens His flock;
And should the prowl­ing wolf ap­pear,
They still are safe, for Christ is there.