The Ninety and Nine

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

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!