8,8,8,8,4

My gentle Lamb, O come to me!

The ravenous wolf lurks near thy path;

No fold is nigh, where wilt thou flee?

The desert wild no safety hath:

O come to me!

Young art thou, tender Lamb, but warm

My mantle round thee shall be pressed;

And in my bosom, safe from harm

Of storm or terror shalt thou rest.

O come to me!

And thou art feeble: I will find

Of richest milk to nourish thee,

And freshest herbs of sweetest kind,

Thy daily pasturage shall be.

O come to me!

Thou shalt to glades, where ripple by

Clear streams, where feed my lambkins, come;

And when the shades of eve are nigh,

I'll bear thee safely to my home.

O come to me!

O, haste, my precious Lamb, to me:

Come prove me by my bleeding heart:

My Father too is seeking thee.

Nor shalt thou ever from us part.

Haste now to me!