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:
" This 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 none of the ransomed ever knew
How deep were the waters crossed;
Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed thro'
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 those blooddrops 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 whence are thy hands so rent and torn? "
" They're pierced tonight by many a thorn;
They're pierced tonight by many a thorn. "

But all thro' the mountains, thunder-riv'n,
And up from the rocky steep,
There arose a glad cry to the gate of heav'n,
" Rejoice! I have found my sheep! "
And the angels echoed around the throne,
" Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!
Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own! "