1 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.

5 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.

6 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.

7 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.

8 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.