|
The lord is my Sheperd; in nocht am I wantin'
In the haughs o' green girss does He mak' me lie doon;
While mony puir straiglers are bleatin' and pantin',
By saft-flowin' burnies He leads me at noon.
When aince I had strayed far awa' in the bracken,
And daidled till gloamin' cam' ower a' the hills,
Nae dribble o' water my said drooth to slacken,
And dark grow'd the nicht w'its haars and its chills.
Awa' frae the fauld , strayin' fit-sair and weary,
I thoucht I had naethin' to dae but to dee:
He socht me and fand me in mountain hechts dreary;
He gangs by fell parths which He kens best for me.
And noo, for His names's sake, I'm dune wi a' fearing'
Though Cloods may aft gaither and soughin' win's blaw;
"Hoo this?" or "Hoo that?" - of, prevent me frae speirin';
His wull is aye best, and I daurna say na.
The valley o' death winna f leg me to thread it,
Though awfu' the darkness, I weel can foresee;
Wi' His rod and His staff He wull help me to tread it,
And then wull its shadows, sae gruesome, a' flee.
Forfochen, in presence o' foes that surroond me.
My Sheperd a table wi' denties has spread;
The thyme and the myrtle blaw fragrant aroond me
He brims a fu' cup and poors oil on my head.
Surely guidness and mercy, despite a' my roamin',
Wull gan wi' me doon to the brink o' the river;
Ayont it, nae mair o' the eerie and gloamin'--
I wull bid in the Harne o' my Faither forever.
|
