Son of David

Beloved of God, in whom do you trust?
But in He who first loved you, and no other you must.
For the one who loved first will continue through last,
When the love of all others has grown pale as the grass.

O shepherd of lambs, each led safe to the knife
By your rod and your staff at the end of its life.
Drinking wine from the rivers, eating bread from the clay,
Humbly following the shepherd to the end of its day.

How this love and compassion to the pain of death leads,
On a road dark and narrow, where the fainting heart bleeds.
O, Beloved of God, where's this pasture you know,
Where our bleating will cease, where our sorrows will go?

Protect us from wolves, for we weren't made for food
To be given to dogs, or by jackals be chewed.
Guard our haunches from grizzlies, and from lions make way
Toward the wide open pastures, to green fields thick with hay.

Beloved, Good Shepherd, who lays down with his flock,
Your bed with the foxes, your pillow a rock,
Teach us now how to love you, though you lead us to die,
For in living you love us, and love still by the by.

Are we graceless as mutton? Are we no more than food?
Does our skin make your garments? Does our faith change your mood?
Tell me why, goodly shepherd, you have led us through fear,
To the gates of the slaughter, to a bed on a bier.

O, but in love, my good shepherd,
You have taught me to trust,
For in living I've known it,
And what follows, it must.