Beneath the sky of endless grace,
A Shepherd walks in quiet pace,
His hands, so gentle, worn yet strong,
Guide wandering sheep where they belong.

Through fields of green, by waters still,
He leads with love, through vale and hill,
A lamb so frail, He lifts with care,
And shields it from the chilly air.

His voice, a whisper, soft and sweet,
Calms every heart, each trembling bleat,
In tender arms, He holds them near,
A balm for doubt, a cure for fear.

When shadows fall and wolves draw close,
He stands as guard, their fierce repose,
His staff a comfort, steady, true,
His flock renewed by morning dew.

Oh, Shepherd kind, with eyes so deep,
You seek the lost, the lone, the weak,
In every clasp, a promise sown,
That none You love will walk alone.