Hear the words so softly spoken;
Let them fall on trembling heart,
"Do you love me?" says the Master,
Then from our eyes the tears must start.

As we think of hands so wounded
And of flesh so bruised and torn,
Of lips so parched and thirsty,
And brow so pierced with thorns.

Then we see OUR hands so busy
With things so often vain,
And from our lips, instead of love,
Fall words that bring such pain!

Let the words then sink in yielded heart
And search out fault and sin,
"Do you love me?" is the question,
"More than love of praise of men?"

"Do you love me?" says the Master,
It doesn't matter what you SAY
If you return just HALF His love
You'll follow ALL the way!