They were sheep without a shepherd,
Wandering here and there;
I chose a gifted follower
I knew would give them care.
He fed them on the high mountains,
He led them on the plains;
He fed them in the rich valleys,
He led them through the rains.
At night and through the deep darkness
He kept a watchful eye;
His rod was ever near at hand,
A bleat would bring him nigh.
He searched for the fertile pastures,
He sought for best of feed,
He discovered the still waters,
He stayed by them in need.
Through deep snow, rain and blowing winds,
In cold, storms and in drought—
There was always food before them,
They had no cause to doubt.
Predators were ever present,
The wolves were always near;
But he was there to protect them—
His sheep to him were dear.
He tenderly fed the young ones;
The lambs that strayed were sought.
Never was there a restful night
If sheep he knew were lost.
And then I observed from Heaven
A sore sheep with a stone.
It was hurled with bitter passion—
He collapsed with a moan.
A few sick sheep quickly gathered—
They too joined in the fray.
The gentle shepherd lay bleeding,
Deeply wounded that day.
In the midst of the confusion,
As the stones flew through the storm—
Little lambs were wildly scattered,
Their fleecy wool all torn.
They were searching for their shepherd,
Crying with anxious care.
But their shepherd lay still, bleeding,
His lambs left to despair.
My shepherd's heart was filled with pain
At what sick sheep had done
To one of My faithful shepherds,
Who with blame there was none.
I said to wondering angels,
"The Father's words are true—
By striking a faithful shepherd,
Sheep are scattered anew."
