Return, O wanderer, to thy home,Thy Father calls for thee;No longer now an exile roam,In guilt and misery:Return, return!
Too long the loathsome fields of sinThy fruitless toil have known:No wholesome bread! no voice of kin!No home to call thine own!Return, return!
Thy Father stands with outstretched hands,He gave His Son for thee:Poor soul, from sin’s enthralling bandsHe longs to see thee free.Return, return!
Arise, stand up and homeward turn,No longer dwell apart;His mighty love will never spurnOne humble contrite heart.Return, return!
Our Father’s house is full of bliss,And there is room for all;He welcomes with forgiving kiss:O, hear His loving call!Return, return!
The feast of joys awaits thee there,The precious robe and ring;O haste Thy Father’s gifts to share,O haste His praise to sing:Return, return!