The sheep that lie upon the grass
Never stir as I do pass;
If by the singing bird I stray,
He never quits his chosen spray;
If to the squirrel’s haunt I go,
He comes with curious eye below;
Earth and I are full of love,
I fear no harm from Heav’n above,
For there, as here, all things do tell
A Father God doth surely dwell:—