| The Garden Gate |
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I met my Savior, face to face, As I came through the garden gate. His knees were worn. His face was smeared, As if He had cried many tears. His hands were bruised, As if by many thorns. His clothes were ripped And tattered, and worn. His face started shining, As we walked down the lane. I looked at my Savior. He didn't look the same. He said that I had heeded His call And he was so very happy I had given Him my all ... That the tears I had seen, Streaming down His face, Were tears of love And tears of grace ... How He had spent many hours Down on His knees, Plucking the thorns And pulling the weeds ... Out of my heart And life, each day, So that a decision for Him I could make. I saw that His clothes, All tattered and worn, Had represented my life; Before I was reborn. My Savior and I now walk Down the lane, side by side; He in clean raiment And I as His Bride. |
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