Never a foolish little lamb astray in the gloaming dim
But the tender Shepherd knoweth its name, and calleth it home to Him.
In the flock and the fold the sheep are His, and He keepeth them close
in His care;
And each for itself in the Shepherd’s heart hath its own peculiar share.
Never a moor so wrapped in mist, nor a hill so gray and dun,
But the Shepherd counteth His lambkins there, and watcheth them one
by one.
Never a day so bleak and chill, nor a night so dark and drear,
But the tireless love of the Shepherd waits for the sheep that are passing
dear.
Never a weary, wayworn sheep in the great world-flock today,
But may hear the call of the Shepherd’s voice, may follow Him and obey.
The Shepherd hath ransomed the great world-flock, He hath bought it
for His own;
And He loveth and guardeth it, one by one, as were each in the world
a’one.
