THE SHEPHERD SILENCE
I
Lambs are round the Crib; the sound
Is of lambkins bleating round—
One the Babe doth pull,
Tangling fingers in his wool;
While the shepherds crook the knee,
Gazing full of awe on me.
II
Something they would have me told,
While I watch the little fold.
Lambs are bleating; it is sweet
How for mother's milk they bleat.
Jesus, can we let them go
Hungry from the stable so?
III
Bleating, bleating! Thou dost mark
How they pass back through the dark;
Thou dost count them, one by one,
Through the door till they are gone;
Very solemn Thou dost keep;
And we ponder on the sheep.
