When some kind shep­herd from his fold
Has lost a stray­ing sheep,
Through vales, o’er hills, he anx­ious roves,
And climbs the mount­ains steep.

But O, the joy! the trans­port sweet!
When he the wan­derer finds!
Upon his arms he takes his charge,
And to his shoul­der binds.

Homeward he hastes to tell his joys,
And make his bliss com­plete;
The neigh­bors hear the news, and all
The joy­ful shep­herd greet.

Such, and much great­er is the joy
When but one sin­ner turns;
When the poor wretch with brok­en heart,
His sins and er­ror mourns.

Pleased with the news, the saints be­low
In songs their tongues em­ploy;
Beyond the skies the tid­ings go,
And Hea­ven is filled with joy.

Well pleased the Fa­ther sees, and hears
The con­scious sin­ner weep;
Jesus re­ceives him in His arms,
And owns him for His sheep.

Nor an­gels can their joys con­tain
But kin­dle with new fire;
A wan­der­ing sheep’s re­turned, they sing
And strike the sound­ing lyre.