There is a fold whence none can stray,
And pastures ever green,
Where sultry sun, or stormy day,
Or night is never seen.
And pastures ever green,
Where sultry sun, or stormy day,
Or night is never seen.
There is a Shepherd living there,
The Firstborn from the dead,
Who tends with sweet, unwearied
care The flock for which He bled.
There congregate the sons of light,
Fair as the morning sky,
And taste of infinite delight
Beneath their Saviour’s eye.
Their joy bursts forth in strains of love
In one harmonious song,
And through the heavenly courts above
The echoes roll along.
O may our faith take up that sound
Though toiling here below!
‘Midst trials may our joys abound,
And songs amidst our woe.
Until we reach that happy shore
And join to swell their strain,
And from our God go out no more
And never weep again.