I Wandered Sore Distressed

I wan­dered sore dis­tressed

All wea­ry and for­lorn;

I had no place to rest

Of all my plea­sures shorn—

My thirst­ing spir­it sighed

And in the de­sert cried.

The Shep­herd heard my cry

Who came His flock to find

And drew in mer­cy nigh

For He is won­drous kind;

His win­ning voice awoke

My spir­it as He spoke.

He bade my wan­der­ing cease

And gave my heart a home

That

from the bliss of peace

I might no long­er roam—

He gave me hope for fears

And last­ing joy for tears.