1 Father, at thy call I come;
In thy bosom there is room
For a guilty soul to hide,
Press'd with grief on ev'ry side.

2 Here I'll make my piteous moan;
Thou canst understand a groan:
Here my sins and sorrows tell;
What I feel thou knowest well.

3 Ah! how foolish I have been,
To obey the voice of sin,
To forget thy love to me,
And to break my vows to thee.

4 Darkness fills my trembling soul,
Floods of sorrow o'er me roll:
Pity, Father, pity me;
All my hope's alone in thee.

5 But may such a wretch as I,
Self-condemn'd, and doom'd to die,
Ever hope to be forgiv'n,
And be smil'd upon by Heav'n!

6 May I round thee cling and twine,
Call myself a child of thine,
And presume to claim a part
In a tender Father's heart?

7 Yes, I may, for I espy
Pity trickling from thine eye:
'Tis a Father's bowels move,
Move with pardon, and with love.

8 Well I do remember too,
What his love hath deign'd to do;
How he sent a Saviour down,
All my follies to atone.

9 Has my Elder Brother died?
And is justice satisfied?
Why,O why, should I despair
Of my Father's tender care.