The Sonne of God my shepheard is:
I am
His lambe.
I shall not want, for I am His.
He leadeth me to tender grasse
Where I
Do lie,
And where still waters gently passe.
He doth restore (and therein blesse)
My soule,
Makes whole
My finely shatter'd brokennesse.
My comfort is His staffe and rod:
They prove
The love
And mercy of the Sonne of God.
For His names sake, my shepheard leades
His keepe
Of sheepe
Through righteous wayes 'twixt thornes and weedes.
Yea, though I walke through Deaths blacke vale
Of shade,
Affrayd
I'm not, for Thou dost leade my trayle.
Sith Thou art with me, Lord, no feare
I'll have:
I'll brave
Evil with ease and eke good cheare.
Thou dost prepare, amid my foes,
My food:
Renew'd
I am, and my cuppe overflowes.
Thou dost with oyle anoint mine head,
Dost poure
It o'er
The living head that once was dead.
Surely goodnesse and mercy shall
With me
E'er be,
For Thou'rt my home and life and all.