ALL in the April morning,
   April airs were abroad;
The sheep with their little lambs
   Pass'd me by on the road.

The sheep with their little lambs
   Pass'd me by on the road;
All in an April evening
   I thought on the Lamb of God.

The lambs were weary, and crying
   With a weak human cry,
I thought on the Lamb of God
   Going meekly to die.

Up in the blue, blue mountains
   Dewy pastures are sweet:
Rest for the little bodies,
   Rest for the little feet.

Rest for the Lamb of God
   Up on the hill-top green,
Only a cross of shame
   Two stark crosses between.

All in the April evening,
   April airs were abroad;
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
   And thought on the Lamb of God.