1 Companions of thy little Flock,
Dear Lord we fain would be;
Our helpless Hearts to Thee look up,
To Thee our Shepherd flee.
2 O might we lean upon the Breast,\
Which Love and pity fill,
And now become those Lambs carest,
That in thy Bosom dwell.
3 How sweet that Voice, How sweet that Hand
Which leads to Pastures fair,
Shews Canaan's Milk and Honey Land,
Lot of thy Flock so dear.
4 Rich Grace, free Grace, most sweetly calls,
Directly come who will,
Just as you are; for Christ receives
Poor helpless Sinners still.
5 'Tis Grace each Day that feeds our Souls;
Grace keeps us inly pure;
And O! that nothing else but Grace
May Rule for evermore.
6 As one in Heart let's all rejoice
The Sinner's Friend to praise;
The Shepherd dy'd; Oh! 'tis his Voice;
He'll us to Glory raise.
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