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,