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Sheepfold. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)
By William Lisle Bowles
The sheep were in the fold at night,
And now a new-born lamb
Totters and trembles in the light,
Or bleats beside its dam.
How anxiously the mother tries,
With every tender care,
To screen it from inclement skies,
And the cold morning air!
The hailstorm of the east is fled,
She seems with joy to swell,
Whilst ever as she bends her head,
I hear the tinkling bell.
So while for me a mother's prayer
Ascends to heaven above,
May I repay her tender care
With gratitude and love!
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