1 'Tis the voice of mercy calls thee,
Wanderer from the Father's home:
'Tis not God, in voice of thunder,
'Tis a Father calls thee, "Come."
Yea, His loving heart still waiteth,
And canst thou refuse Him still?
Nay, with contrite heart relenting,
Say, "Arise and come I will."

2 Come in all thy filthy garments,
Tarry not to cleanse or mend:
Come in all thy destitution,
As thou art, and He'll befriend.
By the tempter's vain allurements,
Be no longer thou beguilded:
God the Father waits to own thee
As His dear adopted child.