The Shepherd

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he stays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watching while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

William Blake

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker, who is considered one of the seminal figures in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. Born in London, Blake was largely unrecognized during his lifetime but is now renowned for his expressive and mystical works that blend poetic and visual art. His notable works include 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' and 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'. His unique creative vision and philosophical outlook have influenced numerous artists and thinkers since his death.

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English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Shepherd Of Israel.

Shepherd of Israel! o'er Thy fold
How sweet Thy guardian care,
To them invisible indeed,
Yet present everywhere.

Thy crook still points to "pastures green,"
When rugged paths they see,
Beside "still waters" bids them rest,
And cast their care on Thee.

The "stranger's voice" thou, Lord, canst teach
Their watchful ears to know,
And make their "peace," their heavenly peace,
Like boundless waters flow.

When round this thorny world we stray
And find no place of rest,
Then come like "doves unto the ark,"
Faint, wearied, and oppressed,

Thy gentle hand is soon put forth
Each wanderer to receive;
Thou bindest up the broken heart,
And bidd'st the sinner live.

Why should we fear the storms of time?
Thy word their for...

Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

Night

The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have ta'en delight.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolv...

William Blake

The Shepherd's Lament.

On yonder lofty mountain

A thousand times I stand,
And on my staff reclining,

Look down on the smiling land.

My grazing flocks then I follow,

My dog protecting them well;
I find myself in the valley,

But how, I scarcely can tell.

The whole of the meadow is cover'd

With flowers of beauty rare;
I pluck them, but pluck them unknowing

To whom the offering to bear.

In rain and storm and tempest,

I tarry beneath the tree,
But closed remaineth yon portal;

'Tis all but a vision to me.

High over yonder dwelling,

There rises a rainbow gay;
But she from home hath departed

And wander'd far, far away.

Yes, far away bath she wander'd,

Perchance e'en over ...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Shepherd Lady.

I.

Who pipes upon the long green hill,
    Where meadow grass is deep?
The white lamb bleats but followeth on -
    Follow the clean white sheep.
The dear white lady in yon high tower,
    She hearkeneth in her sleep.

All in long grass the piper stands,
    Goodly and grave is he;
Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
    The notes of his pipe ring free.
A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
    "Come down, O lady! to me."

She lifts her head, she dons her gown:
    Ah! the lady is fair;
She ties the girdle on her waist,
    And binds her flaxen hair,
And down she stealeth, down and down,
    Down the turret stair.

Behold him! With the flock he wons
    Along yon grassy lea.
"My shepherd lord, my shepherd lov...

Jean Ingelow

The Sheep And The Goat

    The thousand streets of London gray
    Repel all country sights;
    But bar not winds upon their way,
    Nor quench the scent of new-mown hay
    In depth of summer nights.

    And here and there an open spot,
    Still bare to light and dark,
    With grass receives the wanderer hot;
    There trees are growing, houses not--
    They call the place a park.

    Soft creatures, with ungentle guides,
    God's sheep from hill and plain,
    Flow thitherward in fitful tides,
    There weary lie on woolly sides,
    Or crop the grass amain.

    And from dark alley, yard, and den,
    In ragged skirts and coats,
    Come thither children of poor men,
    Wild things, untaught of word or pen--
    The little human goats.
...

George MacDonald

The Idle Shepherd Boys

The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never never ending song,
To welcome in the May.
The magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain raven's youngling brood
Have left the mother and the nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering vapors dart
In very wantonness of heart.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Their work, if any work they have,
Is out of mind, or done.
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,
Their rusty hats they trim:
And thus, as happy as the day,
Those Shepherds wear the time away.

Along the river...

William Wordsworth