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Rh All flesh is grass, the Scriptures say, And so through life's brief span we find; Cut down as in a summer day Are all of human kind. Some, while the morning still is fair, Will fall in youth's sweet op'ning prime; The heat of mid-day some will bear, But all lie low in time.

O mournful thought! ah, how to me It breathes a solemn warning tale! I soon a broken stem shall be, Like those that strew the vale. At early dawn or closing light The silent hand of death may fall: Oh, may I learn this lesson right, So full of truth for all!

 

I met the Good Shepherd but now on the plain, As homeward he carried his lost one again: I marvell'd how gently his burden he bore, And as he pass'd by me I knelt to adore.

Oh, Shepherd, Good Shepherd, thy wounds they are deep. The wolves have sore hurt thee in saving thy sheep; Thy raiment all over with crimson is dyed, And what is this rent they have made in thy side? 