Up yonder on the mountain
A thousand times I stand,
Leant on my crook, and gazing
Down on the valley-land.

I follow the flock to the pasture;
My little dog watches them still.
I have come below, but I know not
How I descended the hill.

The beautiful meadow is covered
With blossoms of every hue;
I pluck them, alas! without knowing
Whom I shall give them to.

I seek, in the rain and the tempest,
A refuge under the tree:
Yonder the doors are fastened,
And all is a dream to me.

Right over the roof of the dwelling
I see a rainbow stand;
But she has departed forever,
And gone far out in the land.

Far out in the land, and farther,—
Perhaps to an alien shore:
Go forward, ye sheep! go forward,—
The heart of the shepherd is sore.