The Little Flock

CHRIST, now keep the little flock
Which Thou bad'st not to fear:
Childing women and old folk
And the little children dear.

In this night of Hell revealed
Call them that they run with Thee,
And come out in a green field
Where they gather round Thy knee.

All poor women that give suck,
All that are with child, lead Thou,
By the margins of a brook
Where is daisied peace enow.

Christ, remember now the sick;
Feeble knees and hanging head.
When they cry on Thee, come quick,
And their sickness shall be stayed.

Where Thou temperest the wind,
Where the drenching rains leave off,
When they run with Thee, O Kind!
Dear, they shall be well enough!