There Is a Little Lonely Fold

There is a lit­tle lone­ly fold

Whose flock one shep­herd keeps

Through sum­mer’s heat and win­ter’s cold

With eye that nev­er sleeps.

By ev­il beast

or burn­ing sky

Or damp of mid­night air—

Not one in all that flock shall die

Beneath that shep­herd’s care.

For if

un­heed­ing or be­guiled

In dan­ger’s path they roam

His pi­ty fol­lows through the wild

And guards them safe­ly home.

O gen­tle Shep­herd! still be­hold

Thy help­less charge in me;

And take a wan­der­er to Thy fold

That tremb­ling turns to Thee.