Poem February 21, 1953 Issue

THE LOST

Harold Vinal

Who was the lamb that wandered wild
In woodlands, dubious and cold,
Who left the meadows, green and mild,
Who left the starry fold
To wander 'neath an alien sky?
Lo, gentle Father, it was I.

The kindly shepherd left the flock,
The ninety and nine, to gather
Me back to graze by field and rock,
Led me through foulest weather,
So that I did not fall nor die.
Lo, gentle Father, it was I.

I the redeemed, the lost, the found,
He called me by my rightful name,
And so I walked upon good ground
Who was the wayward, and I came,
The arrogant, the proud, the vain,
Into the waiting fold again.

Harold Vinal

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