There were ninety and nine that safely lay,
In the shelter of the fold,
But one was out on the hills away,
Far off from the gates of gold;
Away on the mountains wild and bare,
Away from the tender Shepherd’s care,
Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.


“Lord, thou hast here Thy ninety and nine;
Are they not enough for Thee?”
But the Shepherd made answer:
“One of mine Has wandered away from me,
And although the road be rough and steep,
I go to the desert to find my sheep,
I go to the desert to find my sheep.”


But one of the ransomed ever knew,
How deep were the waters crossed;
Nor how dark was the night
that the Lord passed through,
Ere He found His sheep that was lost,
Out in the desert He heard its cry,
Sick and helpless, and ready to die,
Sick and helpless, and ready to die.


“Lord, whence are these blood drops all the way,
That mark out the mountain’s track?
“They were shed for one who had gone astray,
Ere the Shepherd could bring him back.”
“Lord, why are thy hands so rent and torn?”
They are pierced tonight by many a thorn,”
“They are pierced tonight by many a thorn.”


But all through the mountains, thunder-riven,
And up from the rocky sleep,
There rose a cry from the gates of heaven,
“Rejoice I have found my sheep.”
And the angels sang around the throne,
“Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own!”
“Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own!”