Classic Poem

( A Paraphrase )

What man of you, being a shepherd,
Doth lose but one lamb from the fold,
And fearing the wolf and the leopard,
The brambles, the dark, and the cold,
Though ninety and nine be safe sleeping
In lea of the sheltering wold,
Doth not go where the night winds are sweeping
To find the one lost in the cold?

And when in the wilds he hath found it,
Or near the storm-cataract's foam,
In his bosom, his arms folded round it,
Rejoicing he beareth it home;
And there he doth fully restore it
And heal every thorn-wound and smart,
While he bendeth tenderly o'er it
And holdeth it close to his heart.