I Was a Wandering Sheep Lyrics
1 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.
2 The Shepherd sought His sheep,
The Father sought His child,
He followed me o’er vale and hill,
O’er deserts waste and wild;
He found me nigh to death,
Famished, and faint, and lone;
He bound me with the chains of love,
He saved the wandering one.
3 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 wandering sheep;
‘Twas He that brought me to the flock,
‘Tis He that still doth keep.
4 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 heavenly Father’s voice;
I love, I love His home.
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I Was a Wandering Sheep Hymn Story
THE Rev. Dr. Horatius Bonar, a graduate of the University of Edinburgh, was one of the founders of the Free Church of Scotland in 1843.
He wrote a great many hymns that are widely used. In his hymn, “I was a wandering sheep,” he has told the story of salvation in simple terms that a child can understand.
Dr. Long has written an account of the revival in a girls’ school in Massachusetts, where many of the girls had shown a great indifference to religion.
Among the girls who laughed at the meetings and their results was one by the name of Helen B.
They sought to interest her in attending the prayer meetings, but all they could do was to pray for her.
One evening, however, they were surprised to see Helen enter the meeting with eyes downcast and face very pale.
After a few hymns and prayers each one quoted some favorite hymn verses.
When Helen’s turn came there was a silence, and then she began:
“I was a wandering sheep,
I did not love the fold.
“Her voice was low but distinct; and every word as she uttered it, thrilled the hearts of the listeners.
She repeated one stanza after another of that beautiful hymn of Bonar’s, and not an eye, save her own, was dry, as with sweet emphasis she pronounced the last lines:
No more a wayward child,
I seek no more to roam.
That single hymn told all. The wandering sheep, the wayward child, had returned.”