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.
But none of the ransomed ever knew How deep were the waters crossed; Nor how dark was the night 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 those 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, whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?" "They are pierced tonight by many a thorn; They are pierced tonight by many a thorn."
And all through the mountains, thunder riven And up from the rocky steep, There arose a glad 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! Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!"