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 that gate of gold.
Away on the mountains wild and bare,
Away from the tender Shepherd's care.
"Lord, thou has there thine ninety and nine,
Are they not enough for thee?"
But the Shepherd made answer:
"This one of mine has wondered 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,
'Twas sick and helpless and ready to die.
"Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way,
That mark out the mountains' track?"
"They were shed for one who has 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".
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".
- Elizabeth C. Clephane
