The Shepherd’s Fold on High

When the sheep have all been ga­thered

To the Shep­herd’s fold on high

And are rest­ing

sweet­ly rest­ing

’Neath a calm

un­chang­ing sky;

When we look with cloud­less vi­sion

Stretching far and far away

O’er that land be­yond the sun­set

Where the morn­ing breez­es play.

There

be­side the wells of wa­ter

From ce­les­ti­al springs

Celestial springs that flow

There the ev­er­las­ting kind­ness

Of our Sav­ior we shall know.

When our fi­nal march is end­ed

And the last dread con­flict o’er;

When the world re­cedes for­ev­er

To re­volve as now no more;

When the hosts of God’s re­deemed ones

With the grand or­ches­tral throng

Of the an­gels and arch­an­gels

Shout their hal­le­lu­jah song.

There’s a riv­er that pro­ceed­eth

From our Fa­ther’s throne ab­ove

Still re­flect­ing on its bo­som

His eter­nal light of love;

Oh

to think that on its mar­gin

With our kin­dred we may dwell

In a home be­yond the sha­dows

Never more to say fare­well.