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At the Burial of the Dead

The Death of a little Child.


Guter Hirt, du hast gestillet


Gentle Shepherd, Thou hast still'd

Now Thy little lamb's long weeping;

Ah how peaceful, pale, and mild,

In its narrow bed 'tis sleeping,

And no sigh of anguish sore

Heaves that little bosom more.

In this world of care and pain,

Lord, Thou wouldst no longer leave it,

To the sunny heavenly plain

Dost Thou now with joy receive it,

Clothed in robes of spotless white,

Now it dwells with Thee in light.

Ah Lord Jesus, grant that we

Where it lives may soon be living,

And the lovely pastures see

That its heavenly food are giving,

Then the gain of death we prove

Though Thou take what most we love.

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