Twelve years beneath a hidden pain,
Her strength and silver spent in vain;
From healer’s hand to healer’s hand,
No peace, no cure, no place to stand.

Then through the dust the tidings came:
Jesus was passing down the way;
“If I can touch the robe He wears,
His healing mercy meets me there.”

She pressed through dust, she pressed through fear,
One hand reached out, and heaven drew near;
The fountain dried; she knew within:
The morning light had broken in.

The Lord knows your name,
He sees the hidden tear;
He turns within the pressing crowd
And draws the trembling near.
The Lord knows your name,
His mercy makes a way;
No wounded heart that comes to Him
Is ever turned away.

The crowd pressed on, yet Jesus stayed;
“Who touched My clothes?” He turned and said.
His friends replied, “Lord, hands are near” —
But she came forward, gripped by fear.

She fell and told Him all the truth,
Each year of loss and pain;
Before the One who looked to see,
She need not hide again.

“Daughter, your faith has made you well.
Go in peace.”

The Lord knows your name,
He sees the hidden tear;
He turns within the pressing crowd
And draws the trembling near.
The Lord knows your name,
His mercy makes a way;
No wounded heart that comes to Him
Is ever turned away.

The hand she touched would bear the nails;
His blood would speak of peace.
The risen Lord still calls us near
And bids our fear to cease.

No shadow lost, no grief unseen,
No life beyond His care;
We come by faith, we tell the truth,
And find the living Christ is there.

The Lord knows our names,
He sees our hidden tears;
He walks within our crowded world
And draws the wounded near.

“Daughter, go in peace.”

The Lord knows our names,
His mercy makes a way;
The Lord who knows and calls us home
Will never turn away.

The Lord knows your name.