(Written in her thirteenth year.)

The Shepherd feeds his fleecy flock with care,
And mourns to find one little lamb has strayed;
He, unfatigued, roams through the midnight air,
O'er hills, o'er rocks, and through the mossy glade.

But when that lamb is found, what joy is seen
Depicted on the careful shepherd's face,
When, sporting o'er the smooth and level green,
He sees his fav'rite charge is in its place.

Thus the great Shepherd of his flock doth mourn,
When from his fold a wayward lamb has strayed,
And thus with mercy he receives him home,
When the poor soul his Lord has disobeyed.

There is great joy among the saints ih heaven,
When one repentant soul has found its God,
For Christ, his Shepherd, hath his ransom given,
And sealed it with his own redeeming blood!