In the morning I was thoughtless,
Gay and bold,
Scornful of the quiet shelter
Of the fold.
Now at evening there I wondered,
Lost, forlorn,
And my weary feet were bleeding,
Cut and torn.
Then I heard my Shepherd calling,
Seeking me,
But I hid me, frightened, ---wist not
It was He.
But He found me, stooped and raised me
To His breast.
No reproach, He only bade me
Lie and rest.
Through the mountains then He bore me
All the night,
Sweetly cradled me, and soothed me
Till the light.
Then I saw His footprints in the
Morning dew,
And my heart broke, for His feet were
Bleeding too!
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