And mourns to find one little lamb has strayed;
He, unfatigued, roams through the midnight air,
O’er hills, o’er rocks, and through the mossy glade.
But when that lamb is found, what joy is seen
Depicted on the careful shepherd’s face,
When, sporting o’er the smooth and level green,
He sees his favorite charge is in its place!
Thus the great Shepherd of his flock doth mourn,
When from his fold a wayward lamb has strayed,