There is a little, lonely fold,
A fold the Shepherd keeps,
Through summer’s heat and winter’s cold,
With eye that never sleeps.
By evil beast, nor burning sky,
Nor damp of midnight air,
Not one in all that flock shall die,
Beneath that Shepherd’s care.
For if, unheeding or beguiled,
In danger’s path they roam,
His pity follows through the wild,
And guards them safely home.
O am I one in this blest fold,
Or do I wander wide?
The Lord my heart can now behold,
I cannot from Him hide.