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!
