THE LOST SHEEP

 

THE LOST SHEEP by Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane 1868 in Scotland 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 mountain wild and bare, 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 lamb of mine Has wandered away from me; And although the road be rough and steep 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 through Ere he found his sheep that was lost. Out in the desert he heard its cry-- Sick and helpless, and ready to die. "Lord, why are there blood-drops all the way, That mark out the mountain 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." But all through the mountains, thunder-riven, And up from the rocky steep, There rose a cry to the gate of heaven, "Rejoice! I have found my sheep!" And the angels echoed around the throne, "Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!"