A Lamb Folded

Gentle Shepherd, Thou hast stilled

Now Thy little lamb's brief weeping;

Ah, how peaceful, pale, and mild,

In its narrow bed 'tis sleeping,

And no sigh of anguish sore

Heaves that little bosom more.

In this world of sin and pain,

Lord, Thou wouldst no longer leave it;

To the sunny, heav'nly plain

Thou dost now with joy receive it;

Clothed in robes of spotless white,

Now it dwells with Thee in light.

Ah, Lord Jesus, grant that we

Where it lives may once be living;

And the lovely pastures see

That its heav'nly food are giving;

Then the gain of death we prove,

Tho' Thou take what most we love.