The Lamb
"...je suis Votre agneau dans ma douceur de laine."
A spindle on four legs
leaving tufts of white in the thickets,
I am your lamb,
Lord,
in my soft wool.
My bleating
sends its puny note
into the ewe's heart,
my fleece
throws its curly shadow
on the cropped grass.
Look, Lord,
how my joy must leap!
Yet my need of my mother
never sleeps in me.
Let me run to her
with my wavering steps
and draw some of her tenderness.
Oh,
don't let it happen,
Lord,
that one sad day
I will miss her.
Amen.
leaving tufts of white in the thickets,
I am your lamb,
Lord,
in my soft wool.
My bleating
sends its puny note
into the ewe's heart,
my fleece
throws its curly shadow
on the cropped grass.
Look, Lord,
how my joy must leap!
Yet my need of my mother
never sleeps in me.
Let me run to her
with my wavering steps
and draw some of her tenderness.
Oh,
don't let it happen,
Lord,
that one sad day
I will miss her.
Amen.