Are You Within the Fold To-night?
The golden light is fading
The golden light is fadingUpon the mountains gray,And twilight's purple shadingFalls o'er the dying dayAs to the fold for slumberThe weary flock draws near:One hundred was the number,—Are there one hundred here?One hundred was the number,—Are there one hundred here?
Are you within the fold to-night,The fold of Christ, the fold of light?Are you within the fold to-night?Are you within the fold (to-night)?The gentle Shepherd calls you now,With tearful eyes and saddened brow;Wilt thou not come? O come just now,There's room in Jesus' fold.
I'll count the dear ones over,The tender Shepherd said,My own warm fold shall coverEach lamb that I have led;If one has wandered blindlyOr willfully away,I'll seek it long and kindly,Nor wait till break of day.I'll seek it long and kindly,Nor wait till break of day.
With tender, anxious glances,He counts them o'er with care,And vain his hopeful fancies,—But ninety-nine are there.Then forth into the shadows,All else by him forgot,He searches moor and meadows,And searching findeth not.He searches moor and meadows,And searching, findeth not.
The midnight dews are falling,Yet through the mountains wildHe seeks the lost one calling:"Come back, come back, my child;"His voice is sad with pleading,His locks are damp and cold,His feet are torn and bleeding,—There's one without the fold.His feet are torn and bleeding,—There's one without the fold.