The Shepherd and the Lamb

In the Scottish hills as a shepherd strolled
In the eve with his ancient crook,
He found a lamb, that was young and chilled,
By the side of a purling brook.

And fearing the lamb might sicken and die,
Or, from his mother's side might roam,
He carried it with a tender care
To a fold in his highland home.

Mid the dreary night—o'er the craggy peaks—
Through the winds, and the storms, and cold,
The mother followed her captured lamb
To the door of the shepherd's fold.

One; we had a lamb by its mother's side—
It was artless and pure, and mild—
The dearest lamb in our dear flock,
Was the pale, little blue-eyed child.

But a shepherd came, when the sun grew low,
By a path that has long been trod,
And carried our lamb through the mists of night.
To his fold in the mount of God.

With tearful eye and a bleeding heart,
We must bear it and struggle on;
Must climb the mount by the shepherd's track,
To the fold where our lamb is gone.

--by David Barker

This reminded me of the painting my friend made for me:

My little, precious one.