944    7s     R. Hill
Tell me where thy flock rests at noon. Song. 1. 7

1 Tell me, Saviour, from above,
  Dearest Object of my love,
  Where thy little flocks abide,
  Sheltered near thy bleeding side!

2 Say, thou Shepherd all divine,
  Where I may my soul recline.
  Where for refuge shall I fly,
  While the burning sun is high?

3 Never had I sought thy name,
  Never felt the inward flame,
  Had not love first touched my heart,
  Given the painful, pleasant smart.

4 Turn, and claim me as thy own;
  Be my portion, Lord, alone.
  Deign to hear a sinner’s call;
  Be my everlasting all!