I Let My Tears Flow From My Pen

I let my tears flow from my pen
As I stop now to think of men
Who have not heard the name of Him
Who cleanses men of all their sin.
My heart begins to cry; I groan
For those who’ve never heard, nor known.

But I cannot just idly weep,
For Christ will come again to reap
The fruit of what He’s sown, and so
To every tribe His word must go.

Though some may fall along the way,
Let us here no longer stay,
Tucked in our comfort, safe and warm.
No, we must journey through the storm
To gather those for whom Christ died.
Come! Let us here no longer bide.

The call of Christ is strong and sure.
He tells us that we must endure
The fire, though we faint. I know
That Christ has called me, so I’ll go.

Where Christ shall lead I cannot guess,
But where I go I will confess
His name, and though I’m bruised and torn,
And looked upon with laughter, scorn,
Nor even death shall take my gaze
Off from my blessed King of Grace.

How beautiful, then, are the feet
Of those who bring the message, sweet
To them who, by God’s grace alone,
Shall one day bow before His throne.

O may I never turn my face
From gazing toward that heav’nly place,
But let me keep my eyes on Christ,
And even though the dearest price,
My life, be taken, I’ll not frown,
For I’ll have earned a martyr’s crown.

So, following the Savior, I
Shall serve Him till the day I die,
And as my tears flow free, my pen
Shall write of Him who rescues men.

Laura Wingerd © 2007