LITTLE LAMBS.
I walk’d in a field of fresh clover this morn,
Where lambs play’d so merrily under the trees,
Or rub’d their soft coats on a naked old thorn,
Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease.
And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook,
To drink from when thirsty or weary with play;
So gay did the daisies and buttercups look,
That I thought little lambs must be happy all day.
And when I remember the beautiful psalm,
That tells about Christ and His pastures so green,
I know He is willing to make me His lamb,
And happier far than the lambs I have seen.
If I drink of the waters so peaceful and still,
That flow in His field, I for ever shall live;
If I love Him, and seek His commands to fulfil,
A place in His sheepfold to me will He give.
The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play,
The long summer’s day in contentment they spend;
But happier I, if in God’s holy way
I try to walk always, with Christ for my Friend.
