To Matilda

I was, dear lamb, ordain’d to be
A shepherd here, to watch o’er thee;
I nourish’d thee with mine own bread,
With water from the fountain head.

And when the winter storm roar’d loudly,
Against my breast I warm’d thee proudly;
There held I thee encircled well
Whilst rain in torrents round us fell;
When, through its rocky dark bed pouring
The torrent, with the wolf, was roaring,
Thou feared’st not, no muscle quiver’d,
E’en when the highest pine was shiver’d
By the fork’d flash--within mine arm
Thou slept’st in peace without alarm.

My arm grows weak, and fast draws near
Pale death! My shepherd’s task so dear,
And pastoral care approach their end.
Into Thy hands, God, I commend
My staff once more. O do Thou guard
My lamb, when I beneath the sward
Am laid in peace, and suffer ne’er
A thorn to prick her anywhere.

From thorny hedges guard her fleece,
May quagmires ne’er disturb her peace,
May there spring up beneath her feet
An ample crop of pasture sweet,
And let her sleep without alarm,
As erst she slept within mine arm!