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| 1 | "Come!" 'tis Jesus gently calling, |
| "Ye with care and toil oppressed, |
| With your guilt howe'er appalling— |
| Come, and I will give you rest." |
| For your sin He "once has suffered," |
| On the cross the work was done, |
| And the word by God now uttered |
| To each weary soul is "Come!" |
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| 2 | "Come!" the Father's house stands open, |
| With its love and light and song; |
| And returning to that Father, |
| All to you may now belong. |
| From sin's distant land of famine, |
| Toiling neath the midday sun, |
| To a Father's house of plenty, |
| And a Father's welcome, "Come!" |
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| 3 | "Come!" for night is gathering quickly |
| O'er the world's fast-fleeting day; |
| If you linger till the darkness |
| You will surely miss your way. |
| And still waiting—sadly waiting, |
| Till the day its course has run, |
| With His patience unabating |
| Jesus lingers for you—"Come!" |
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| 4 | "Come!" for angel hosts are musing |
| O'er this sight so strangely sad: |
| God "beseeching"—man refusing |
| To be made forever glad! |
| From the world and its delusion |
| Now our voices rise as one; |
| While we shout God's invitation, |
| Heaven itself reechoes "Come!" |
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