The Good Shepherd (Shipton)

Down in the plea­sant pas­tures

Beside the wa­ters still

Behold the Shep­herd lead­eth

His lit­tle flock at will:

Gently

oh

gent­ly guid­ing

The way His sheep must go

Still on­ward to the Fount­ain

Where liv­ing waters flow.

The strang­er’s voice they heed not—

He seeks their ear to win;

And nev­er can a rob­ber

The sheep-fold en­ter in.

No hire­ling is the Shep­herd

For He His watch will keep;

’Tis He alone who giv­eth

His own life for His sheep.

And all His own He know­eth

He call­eth them to come;

O’er dist­ant hills they hear Him

And so He draws them home.

Though ways be set with bri­ers

And though the path be steep

They know His word of warn­ing

And the Shep­herd knows His sheep.

Though sha­dows ga­ther o’er them

The night they do not fear;

Through si­lence and in dark­ness

His voice they still can hear.

Though tem­pest rave around them

The win­try wind be cold

They know His care sur­rounds them

Safe shel­tered in the fold.

If the wild wolf’s voice af­fright them

By Shep­herd’s side they keep;

For He who watch­eth o’er them

Will slum­ber not

nor sleep.

The heed­less sheep may wan­der

He sees the wan­der­er’s track;

Over the hill

through val­ley

He fond­ly lures it back.

With ten­der­ness He cleans­eth

The fleece from ev­ery stain;

Binds up each wound

and rais­eth

The we­ary one again.

With no harsh blow He greets it

For all the pains it cost;

With smiles of love He meets it

And but for Him ’twere lost.

If way­ward lamb He find­eth

Doth cold He stand

aloof?

Or meet the lit­tle trem­bler

With voice of stern re­proof?

With gen­tle words of wel­come

Doth the Good Shep­herd come

And bears it in His bo­som

With fond re­joic­ing

home.

And oth­er sheep He own­eth

Wandering from Him afar;

He

the Good Shep­herd

know­eth

Where all His loved ones are.

The bless­èd day is dawn­ing

That day by Him fore­told

When they shall own one Shep­herd

Safe she­ltered in one fold.