1  In tenderness He sought me,

       Weary and sick with sin,

    And on His shoulders brought me

       Into His flock again.

    While angels in His presence sang

    Until the courts of heaven rang.

 2  He washed the bleeding sin-wounds,

       And poured in oil and wine;

    He whispered to assure me,

       "I've found thee, thou art Mine:"

    I never heard a sweeter voice,

    It made my aching heart rejoice.

 3  He pointed to the nail-prints,

       For me His blood was shed;

    A mocking crown so thorny,

       Was placed upon His head:

    I wondered what He saw in me,

    To suffer such deep agony.

 4  I'm sitting in His presence,

       The sunshine of His face,

    While with adoring wonder

       His blessings I retrace.

    It seems as if eternal days

    Are far too short to sound His praise.

 5  So while the hours are passing,

       All now is perfect rest;

    I'm waiting for the morning,

       The brightest and the best,

    When He will call us to His side,

    To be with Him, His spotless Bride.