THE MOVEMENT ‘HE SHALL FEED HIS FLOCK’ FROM THE MESSIAH
You bought me rest from wind and hail.
I lay my head on the balcony rail.
Crickets are seething all around.
I lay my head on the sunny ground.
Your death’s at peace — it’s dead and gone.
I lay my head in bed at home.
Then why, at rest, where I might sleep,
Must I now hold my head and weep?