THE FOLDED FLOCK
By Wilfrid Meynell
I saw the shepherd fold the sheep,
With all the little lambs that leap.
O Shepherd Lord, so I would be
Folded with all my family.
Or go they early, come they late,
Their mother and I must count them eight.
And how, for us, were any heaven
If we, sore-stricken, saw but seven?
Kind Shepherd, as of old Thou’lt run
And fold at need a straggling one.