The Good Shepherd


I met the Good Shepherd but now on the plain,
As homeward he carried his lost one again:
I marvell’d how gently his burden he bore,
And as he pass’d by me I knelt to adore.

Oh, Shepherd, Good Shepherd, thy wounds they are deep.
The wolves have sore hurt thee in saving thy sheep;
Thy raiment all over with crimson is dyed,
And what is this rent they have made in thy side?

Ah me, how the thorns have entangled thy hair,
And cruelly riven that forehead so fair!
How feebly thou drawest thy faltering breath,
And lo, on thy face is the paleness of death!

Oh, Shepherd, Good Shepherd, and is it for
Such grievous affliction hath fallen on thee?
Oh, then let me strive, for the love thou hast borne,
To give thee no longer occasion to mourn.

Henry Formby, ed., First Series of Hymns and Songs…

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