On Sunday, Pam and I attended church at a United Methodist retreat center/camp called Epworth something, in Ludington, Mich. Every Sunday they have speakers from across the country. It was an enjoyable service.

But as we sang one hymn, I found myself cracking a smile. It was “The Lord’s My Shepherd,” a hymn I hadn’t heard before. It uses the text of Psalm 23, but contorts sentence structure in an obsessive and sadly desperate search for a rhyme. It’s like a Pennsylvania Dutch version of Yoda.

Here the first two verses are:

The Lord‚’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want;
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by.

My soul He doth restore again,
And me to walk doth make
Within the paths of righteousness,
E’en for His own name’s sake.

Isn’t that precious? “He makes me down to lie.”

I’m sorry, but as we sang, I restrain from cracking a smile had to. Not worshipful was it. This unusual with hymns is not. Many hymns I up with grew similarly mangle sentence structure to a rhyme find.

Modern songs do that don’t. They like people actually talk sound, and much prefer I that. And that’s yet another reason why miss hymns I don’t particularly.