Some stand some sit some kneel some laze
Some mill around for fun
Some sheep will in a pasture graze
Before the midday sun
At times they seek to rest a while
Contently stroll the land
Rising to walk an extra mile
Beneath The Shepherd’s hand
They’ll forage in the fertile glades
Pausing to look around
They’ll nibble on odd selected blades
On tender flower found
Constant a babbling brook runs near
Inviting to it’s flow
Quite safe the flock devoid of fear
Can drink where’re they go
The Shepherd keeps the wolf at bay
The buzzard swoops in vane
Even the sheep that err or stray
Return to graze again
Always The Shepherd stands in view
Beyond the same old tree
From dusk until the morning dew
His watchful eyes can see
His eyes are like a burning flame
His feet like glowing brass
Yet all the sheep He knows by name
Can safely chew the grass
Such calmness in the sky above
Such warmth within His voice
The sheep can feel The Shepherd’s love
And make His way their choice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem