The Lord is my shepherd, what more shall I want
As I wander in fields so green.
He taketh me over deep waters blue
To fields that I have not seen.
He restoreth my soul when I am sad
And ever my heart doth ache,
In the path of righteousness He leadeth me
All for His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valleys wide
Where the shadow of death is near
When I know my Shepherd is by my side
No evil shall I fear.
For Thou art with me, Shepherd Dear,
Thy rod and Thy staff I see,
And when I heard Thy sweet voice call,
How it did comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before mine eyes
Where my enemies work and toil.
My cup runneth over, that I know
For Thou anointest my head with oil.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life where I go
And I'll take my reward in the harvest, Dear Lord,
From the seeds that I will sow.

-William Austin Ransom

And I will dwell in Thy house forever, My Lord,
And no want shall ever know.

THE CALL

Not long ago, I remember well
Out West upon the farm,
There were many, many tons of hat
Lay pressing in the barn.

The fields were ripe with golden grain,
Ripened by the sun
We were all engaged in heavy work
Preparing for the winter to come.

It was harvest time and we were through
Hauling in our wheat
When all at once rang in my ears,
"Your work is not complete."

I turned around in great surprise,
But nothing could I see.
I thought perchance I missed a sheave,
But found it could not be.

So on we went with happy hearts,
'Tis true we had it all,
When once again rang in my ears,
"It was God that made the call."

Not long ago, I remember well,
Out west upon the farm,
My thoughts would often wander back
To the time when Christ was born.

And how he suffered scoffs and scorn
Just think what He passed trough;
I did not fully understand,
It was all for me and you.

And oft times I would sit and think
If I understood aright.
If the world was really the field of God
And the harvest fully ripe.

Now this, to me, did seem to be
A mystery overlooked
When once again I read it plain
On the pages of the Good Old Book.

Then from that time prepared to go,
Leave parents, home, and all,
For the time had come, the work began,
And God had made the call.

Not long ago, oh let me say,
I left that little farm
And loved ones, too, whose prayers I knew
Would keep me from all harm.

Yes, Mother there was dear to me,
She had taught me from my youth,
And always in the kindest words,
Taught me to tell the truth.

While in her arms I stood that morn
I left the cottage door
And the prayers I heard were word for word
Like the ones I heard before.

"Be humble," Mother said to me,
"And God will hear your prayers."
Then sent me forth upon the earth
To gather from among the tares.

Now, through the countries of the East,
Through cities large and small,
It is there I roam, far from my home,
In honor of the call

-William Austin Ransom (age 25)

Bible, O Bible

Bible, O Bible, What is thy plan?
What is the glory and goal of man?
Was man as thou sayest, created by God,
And placed here on earth to till the sod
And earn his bread by the sweat of his brow,
To sow, and reap, where he can plow?
Come, dear Treasure, reveal if you can
What is the glory and goal of man?

Oh, dear reader, if you've read me thru
You should understand what's in store for you.
And the more you read my pages through
You will find your days won't be so blue.
You will walk the earth with head erect;
And treat all men with self-respect.
You fill find at the end of life's little span
The glory and goal that is for man.

To give you a lift along the way,
That from My path you will not stray,
I gave commands that you will see
Thou shall have no other God but me,
For I am the Lord that gave you birth
And gave you heritage here on earth,
That you may be honest, brave, and true,
And follow the path that is laid for you.

And all the gold that thou refine
Thou shall not adorn they shrine.
From engraven images thou shall refrain
And give them not My holy name,
Nor bow thy head to them with fear,
For when thou prayest they will not hear.
They are but thorns on the path you trod
And they make of Me a jealous God.

Thou shall not take my name in vain,
Nor mar thy path with worldly fame,
For the footsteps that you leave behind
Some poor soul is sure to find.
So guiltless thou must always be,
Then men will seek to follow thee;
So always strive to guard thy tongue
Before men and women, both old and young.

Six days thou shall work and toil,
Prepare the seed and plant the soil.
On the seventh day thou shall rest thy soul.
If you work this day, you'll miss the goal.
The manservant, the maid servant, daughter and son
Shall be free this day to go and come.
From thy cattle, too, thou shall spare the rod,
For this is the Sabbath of the Lord, thy God.

Thy father and mother thou shall honor, too,
And do for them what they have done for you;
Then thy days shall be long and free
Upon the land the Lord has given thee.
So honor them without dread nor fear,
And pledge thyself from year to year.
The from this life when they do part,
They leave without a broken heart.

Another tho't to prove thy skill,
The Lord had said "Thou shalt not kill",
For the souls of men are dear to me,
They are as branches on my family tree.
To cut them off could leave a scar
Upon thy life forever more.
So point thine arrow in the air
And when it falls, you'll know not where

Remember, too, in life's great throng,
To commit adultery would be dead wrong.
So guard thy feet upon the sod,
For thou, my son, are a child of God.
The man that's honest, true and brave
Will find his quest beyond the grave,
An honored branch on a family tree
And live through all eternity.

Thou shall not false witness bear
But play life's game and play it fair.
And the bread upon the water blue,
After many days will come back to you.
So make thy rod of honor last
And cast thy bread with a perfect cast.
And the wind that blows upon thy seas
Will always blow a gentle breeze.

Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's all,
His house, his wife, nor his children small,
His manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his ass,
Just keep above thy neighbor's class
And he will look to thee with pride,
To love and honor, and not deride.
It's a heavy load but you must make the grade,
For this is life's great escapade.

-William Austin Ransom (1958)

Surrounded with trees that are crimson and gold
Daintily tinted by gay autumn's art,
And covered o'er head with a mantle of blue,
Stands an old home that's dear to my heart.

Now shattered by blizzards and torn by the winds
Time has robbed it of beauty and charm,
Yet once 'twas a haven of peace and rest
A shelter from cold and from storm.

Tho' solemn and lonely it stands through the years,
Fond memories which age will not dim
Of the once happy home with its joys and its cares,
And of loved ones that dwelt there within.

Born of the bravest of true pioneers
Unafraid and undaunted were they
But went hand in hand o'er life's rugged path
From dawn till the close of the day.

The blank, barren land that our parents possessed
With pure mountain air, with sunshine and rain,
With courage, ambition, with struggle and toil
They transformed its bare acres to rich fields of grain,

Surrounded with valleys and clear mountain streams
That have yielded to struggle and toil,
Of dear parents so eager to build up a home
As they labored and conquered the soil.

The memories of harvest when summer was gone
When they gleaned the ripe grain from the sod
And with grateful hearts they would kneel down at night
To give thanks and praise to their God.

The memories of winter and great drifts of snow
A grey sky hanging low overhead
A hearth, a bright fire, with blaze all aglow,
And kind hands that tucked us in bed.

Fond memories of springtime and buds on the trees,
The birds singing loud their aria,
The clear rippling streams as they hurriedly passed
Gliding gently along on their way.

The fragrance of flowers in the soft gentle breeze
And green hills where we children would roam
Till the bright shining sun sinking low in the West
Would remind us of loved ones and home.

Long years have since passed, our parents are gone
Dear Jesus has called them back home.
But sweet memories forever will last through the years,
No matter where e'er I may roam.

(Believed to have been written by William Austin Ransom)