Late at night I saw the Shepherd
Toiling slow along the hill,
Though the flock below were gathered
In the fold so warm and still;
On His face I saw the anguish,
In His locks the drops of night,
As He searched the misty valleys,
As He climbed the frosty heights.

Just one tender lamb was missing,
When He called them all by name;
While the others heard and followed
This one, only, ne­ver came.
Oft His voice rang thro’ the darkness
Of that long, long night of pain,
Oft He vainly paused to listen
For an answering tone again.

Far away the truant sleeping,
By the chasm of despair;
Lay unconscious of its danger,
Shivering in the mountain air.
But at last the Shepherd found it,
Found it ere in sleep it died,
Took it in His loving bosom,
And His soul was satisfied.

Then I saw the eastern spaces
Part before a shining throng,
And the golden dome of morning
Seemed to shatter into song.