  All in the April morning, April airs were abroad; The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road. The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road; All in the April evening, I thought on the Lamb of God. The lambs were weary, and crying With a weak human cry, I thought on the Lamb of God Going meekly to die. Up in the blue, blue mountains Dewy pastures are sweet: Rest for the little bodies, Rest for the little feet. Up on the hill-top green, Only a cross of shame Two stark crosses between. All in the April evening, April airs were abroad; I saw the sheep with their lambs, And thought on the Lamb of God. Katharine Tynan Hinkson |
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