Shepherd Turned Sailor
Now Christ ye save yon bonny shepherd Sailing on the sea; Ten thousand souls are sailing there But they belong to Thee. If he is lost then all is lost And all is dead to me. My love should have a grey head-stonee And green moss at his feet And clinging grass above his breast Whereon his lambs could bleat, And I should know the span of earth Where some day I might sleep.
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