Wander, they do, in the shadow of night,
Far from the fold, out of mercy’s sight.
The path once bright with the light of grace,
Now veiled in mist, they’ve lost their place.

Like sheep astray from the Shepherd’s hand,
They roam alone in a barren land.
The voice of God, so faint, so far,
Yet still it calls beneath each star.

“Come home, O lost, to the Father’s care,
My love for you is always there.
Though sin may bind and darkness hide,
My arms are open, come inside.”

But the chains of pride, of guilt, of shame,
Keep them bound to their wandering flame.
They seek in vain, for peace, for rest,
But find instead an empty quest.

The prodigal heart, so weary, worn,
Longs for the dawn, but greets the storm.
Yet in the deep, where tears are shed,
A seed of hope springs from the dead.

For though they’re lost, they’re never beyond
The reach of Christ, the saving bond.
His blood was shed to heal the rift,
To find the lost and grant them lift.

O, Shepherd King, with staff and rod,
Lead the lost souls back to God.
Your love, unending, will not cease,
Until each soul has found Your peace.

In Your embrace, the lost are found,
In heaven’s joy, where grace abounds.
The night is gone, the day is near—
For every soul, redemption’s here.