Ye little flock, whom Jesus feeds,
Dismiss your anxious cares;
Look to the Shepherd of your souls,
And smile away your fears.

Tho' wolves and lions prowl around,
His staff is your defense;
'Midst sands and rocks your Shepherd's voice
Calls streams and pastures thence.

Your Father will a kingdom give,
And give it with delight;
His feeblest child His love shall call
To triumph in His sight.

Ten thousand praises, Lord, we bring
For sure supports like these;
And o'er the pious dead we sing
Thy living promises.

For all we hope, and they enjoy,
We bless the Savior's name;
Nor shall that stroke disturb the song
Which breaks this mortal frame.