And there the lion's ruddy eyes

Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold: Saying: "Wrath by His meekness, And, by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day.

"And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep, Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep. For, washed in life's river, My bright mane for ever Shall shine like the gold, As I guard o'er the fold."