The One Lost Sheep by T.L. Newton

The ninety and nine were safely Home,

In the shelter of the fold;

One lonely, lost sheep was now astray,

In the stormy

deep and cold.

The Shepherd goes out to seek His sheep,

On the mountain wild and drear;

Through deepening dark and blinding rain,

A faint hearted cry He hears.

The Shepherd went high upon the steep,

Took the path the lost had gone;

The wounded, sick sheep lay helplessly,

In the thorny path alone.

In mercy the Lord stoops in the mire,

To the one lost sheep in pain,

And carries it gently in His arms,

To the sheltering Fold again.

And never again the one lost sheep,

From the Fold will stray too far;

God watches and leads it by the hand,

And His Gates are left ajar.

O,

could it mean you; could it mean me,

Was the one lost sheep astray,

His strong loving arms will lift our souls,

From the depths of the miry clay.