Poetry

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At our approach, the flock of sheep
Took fright and sped across the hill.
But one could neither run nor leap,
With fearful stare he waited till
We’d passed, then limping in great pain
He slowly joined the flock again.


I hoped no predator would strike
Whilst he in weakness was so slow,
I hoped the shepherd, kindly like,
Would spot the need and quickly show
Protection, help and loving care
To one poor sheep, just stranded there.


How often my heart, just the same,
Is in great need through pain and sin,
My walk is slow, my feet are lame
Through struggles outward or within.
But then He comes, and I know this –
The King of Love My Shepherd is.

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