From the dark the wolves do watch,
As naked lambs travel to and fro.
No bag, no cloak, no sandals,
As to every town they go.
Messengers of the One to come,
To each house they bleet out peace.
Announcing to all, the Kingdom of God,
And His eternal feast.
To make such a feast the field must yield,
Its bounty in due time,
But laborers are few so pray the good Lord,
Send those to tend, to prune to hive.
The bleeting peace does go out,
And often times returns.
But those who accept that potent peace,
Give the labourer what he deserves.
Relying on the Shepherd, the sheep heal,
By word and by hand.
No mind to wolf with fiery eyes,
God's Kingom is at hand!
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