Sad and lonely though I be,
The Lord my shepherd cares for me.
The snow may fall, the winds may blow,
The Lord shall find me this I know.
When lost, alone, and bruised in the wild,
I hear my shepherd, “Come my child”.
My soul o’erwhelmed by deaths dark vale,
Calmed by His gentle, ”All is well”.
He will feed and bed this little lamb,
Forgiveness and hope fed by His hand.
When finally at peace I’m laid to rest,
In His warm white robes will I be dressed.
Deane Wassink
March, 2003