"The white lambs feed in tender grass: With them and thee to bide, How good it were," she saith at noon; "Albeit the meads are wide. Oh! well is me" she saith when day Draws on to eventide. Hark! hark! the shepherd's voice. Oh, sweet! Her tears drop down like rain. "Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere And tend the flock full fain; Feed them, O lady, and lose not one, Till I shall come again." Right soft her speech: "My will is thine, And my reward thy grace!" Gone are his footsteps over the hill, Withdrawn his goodly face; The mournful dusk begins to gather, The daylight wanes apace. III. On sunny slopes, ah! long the lady Feedeth her flock at noon; She leads them down to drink at eve Where the small rivulets croon. All night her locks are wet with dew, Her eyes outwatch the moon. Over the hills her voice is heard, She sings when light doth wane: "My longing heart is full of love. When shall my loss be gain? My shepherd lord, I see him not, But he will come again." When she had finished, Jack lifted his face and said, "Mamma!" Then she came to him and kissed him, and his father said, "I think it must be time this man of ours was in bed." So he looked earnestly at them both, and as they still asked him no questions, he kissed and wished them good-night; and his mother said there were some strawberries on the sideboard in the dining-room, and he might have them for his supper. So he ran out into the hall, and was delighted to find all the house just as usual, and after he had looked about him he went into his own room, and said his prayers. Then he got into his little white bed, and comfortably fell asleep. That's all.