I Was a Wandering Sheep

I was a wan­der­ing sheep,
I did not love the fold;
I did not love my Shep­herd’s voice,
I would not be con­trolled.
I was a way­ward child,
I did not love my home;
I did not love my Fa­ther’s voice,
I loved afar to roam.

The Shep­herd sought His sheep,
The Fa­ther sought His child;
They fol­lowed me o’er vale and hill,
O’er des­erts waste and wild;
They found me nigh to death,
Famished and faint and lone;
They bound me with the bands of love,
They saved the wan­d’ring one.

They spoke in ten­der love,
They raised my droop­ing head,
They gent­ly closed my bleed­ing wounds,
My faint­ing soul they fed;
They washed my filth away,
They made me clean and fair;
They brought me to my home in peace,
The long sought wan­der­er.

Jesus my Shep­herd is:
’Twas He that loved my soul;
’Twas He that washed me in His blood,
’Twas He that made me whole.
’Twas He that sought the lost,
That found the wan­d’ring sheep,
’Twas He that brought me to the fold,
’Tis He that still doth keep.

No more a wan­der­ing sheep,
I love to be con­trolled;
I love my ten­der Shep­herd’s voice,
I love the peace­ful fold.
No more a way­ward child,
I seek no more to roam;
I love my heav’n­ly Fa­ther’s voice,
I love, I love His home!

Words: Horatius Bonar, 1843.