How many sheep are straying,
Lost from the Savior’s fold!
Upon those lonely mountains
They shiver in the cold;
Within the tangled thicket,
Where poison vines do creep,
And over rocky ledges,
Wander the poor lost sheep.

Oh, who will go to find them,
Who, for the Savior’s sake,
Will search with tireless patience,
Thro’ brier and thro’ brake?
Unheeding thirst and hunger,
Who still from day to day,
Will seek as for a treasure,
The sheep that go astray?

Oh, who will seek to find them,
From pleasant bow’rs of ease?
Will you go forth determined
To find the least of these?
For still the Savior calls them,
And looks across the wold,
And still He holds wide open
The door into His fold.