In Tenderness He Sought Me

In tenderness He sought me,

Weary and sick with sin,

And on His shoulders brought me

Back to His fold again:

While angels in His presence sang,

Until the courts of heaven rang.

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.

He pointed to the nail-prints,

For me His blood was shed,

A mocking crown so thorny,

Was placed upon his head;

I wonder what He saw in me,

To suffer such deep agony.

I'm sitting in His presence,

The sunshine of His face,

While with adoring wonder

His blessings I retrace;

It sees as if eternal days

Are far too short to sound His praise.

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 brider!