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Tell me where thy flock rests at noon. Song. 1. 7

R. Hill                  7s

1
Tell me, Saviour, from above,
 Dearest Object of my love,
 Where thy little flocks abide,
 Sheltered near thy bleeding side!

2
Say, thou Shepherd all divine,
 Where I may my soul recline.
 Where for refuge shall I fly,
 While the burning sun is high?

3
Never had I sought thy name,
 Never felt the inward flame,
 Had not love first touched my heart,
 Given the painful, pleasant smart.

4
Turn, and claim me as thy own;
 Be my portion, Lord, alone.
 Deign to hear a sinner’s call;
 Be my everlasting all!