The Lord is my fhepherd,
I fhal not want.
He maketh me to reft in green pafture,
and leadeth me by the ftil waters.
He reftoreth my foule,
and leadeth me in the paths
of righteoufnes for His Names fake.
Yea, thogh I fhulde walk trhough the
valley of the fhadow of death,
I will feare no euil:
for Thou art with me:
Thy rod and Thy ftaffe,
They comfort me.
Thou doeft prepare a table before
me in the fight of mine aduerfaries:
Thou doeft anoint my head with oyle,
and my cup runneth ouer.
Douteles kindenes, and mercie fhal
follow me all the dayes of my life,
and I fhal remaine a long feafon
in the Houfe of the Lord.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem