A Pastoral Hymn, Taken from the Twenty-third Psalm

Secure o'er the meadow, the valley, and grove, My steps in a sweet rural innocence rove; All ease in my bosom, nor mine is the care, Or to tread the right path, or my food to prepare; E'er my wishes I speak, every want is supplied, And how can I err—when the Lord is my guide!

By the hand of indulgence each day am I bless'd, And am lull'd every night on the pillow of rest: When hungry, my shepherd his votary leads To the banquet of nature, that smiles on the meads; And commands, when I'm thirsty, my fever to cease With pure living streams from the fountain of peace.

Thus calmly I wander the journey of life, Unknowing of sorrows, unruffled by strife; My shepherd still soothing, with tender controul, Each rebel of passion, that heaves in my soul; Still pointing indulgent the path to my sight— And how happy am I—when I know 'tis the right!

Should I tread the lone valley, the comfortless ground, Where Death spreads a midnight of darkness around, No danger of fear—while I roam o'er the plain; Oh! Death all thy horrors, and frowns are in vain! Still, still thro' the desert my shepherd attends, Of parents the fondest, the dearest of friends.

Ah! vainly, ye wicked, ye point at my heart, For the hand of the Lord turns aside every dart; Ah! vainly, believe me, your rage ye employ To sully the sweets of an innocent joy; The oil of delight shall still stream on my head, And my cup the rich fountains of transport shall shed.

Yes—faithful attendants,—unmov'd from my side Thy truth shall protect me, thy mercy shall guide; Yes—Life's little round with such friends will I stray, Nor heed any danger that frowns in my way; Then—wing my bold flight to my Saviour's abode, And prostrate my soul at the throne of my God.