And pastoral care approach their end.
Into thy hands, God, I commend
My staff once more. O do thou guard
My lamb, when I, beneath the sward
Am laid in peace, and suffer ne’er
A thorn to prick her anywhere.
From thorny hedges guard her fleece,
May quagmires ne’er disturb her peace.
May there spring up beneath her feet
An ample crop of pasture sweet,