All in the April morning

April airs were abroad,

The sheep with their little lambs,

Passed me by on the road.

The sheep with their little lambs

Passed me by on the road;

All in an April evening

I thought on the Lamb of God.

The lambs were weary, and crying

With a weak human cry,

I thought on the Lamb of God

Going meekly to die.

Up in the blue, blue mountains

Dewy pastures are sweet;

Rest for the little bodies,

Rest for the little feet.

All in the April evening

April airs were abroad;

I saw the sheep with their lambs,

And thought on the Lamb of God.